THE  GIFT  OF 

FLORENCE  V.  V.  DICKEY 

TO  THE 

UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA 

AT  LOS  ANGELES 


THE  DONALD  R.  DICKEY 

LIBRARY 

OF  VERTEBRATE  ZOOLOGY 


DEAD  MAN^S  PLACK 

and 

AN  OLD  THORN 


WORKS  BY  W.  H.  HUDSON 

A  SHEPHERD'S  LIFE 

THE  PURPLE  LAND 

BIRDS  IN  TOWN  AND  VILLAGE 

A  CRYSTAL  AGE 

IDLE  DAYS  IN  PATAGONIA 

ADVENTURES  AMONG  BIRDS 

FAR  AWAY  AND  LONG  AGO 

A  NATURALIST  IN  LA  PLATA 

E.    P.    BUTTON    &    COMPANY 


DEAD  MAN'S  PLACK 

and 

AN  OLD  THORN 

BY 
W.   H.    HUDSON 

AUTHOR  OF 

"The  Purple  Land,"  "Birds  in  Town  and  Village," 

"Far  Away  and  Long  Ago,"  etc.,  etc. 


NEW  YORK 

E.   p.   BUTTON  &   COMPANY 

68i  FIFTH  AVENUE 


Copyright  1920,  by 
P.  DUTTON  &  COMPANY 


AU  rightt  reserved 


Printed  m  the  Vnited  Staiet  of  S.meriea 


CONTENTS 


DEAD  MAN'S  PLACK  p^^e 

Preamble 3 

1 13 

II. 17 

m. 21 

IV.        28 

V.        36 

VL        47 

vn.      58 

vni 67 

DC 75 

X.        ,     / 87 

XL        98 

xn 117 

AN  OLD  THORN 

1 13s 

IL        148 

in.      iss 

POSTSCRIPT 

Dead  Man's  Plack 173 

An  Old  Thorn 178 

V 


Digitized  by  tine  Internet  Archive 

in  2008  with  funding  from 

IVIicrosoft  Corporation 


http://www.archive.org/details/deadmansplackoldOOhuds 


DEAD  MAN'S  PLACK 


PREAMBLE 

"^T^  HE  insect  tribes  of  human  kind"  is  a  mode 
-■-  of  expression  we  are  familiar  with  in  the 
poets,  moralists  and  other  superior  persons,  or 
beings,  who  viewing  mankind  from  their  own 
vast  elevation  see  us  all  more  or  less  of  one  size 
and  very,  very  small.  No  doubt  the  comparison 
dates  back  to  early,  probably  Pliocene  times, 
when  someone  climbed  to  the  summit  of  a  very 
tall  cliff  and  looking  down  and  seeing  his  fellows 
so  diminished  in  size  as  to  resemble  insects,  not 
so  gross  as  beetles  perhaps  but  rather  like  em- 
mets, he  laughed  in  the  way  they  laughed  then 
at  the  enormous  difference  between  his  stature 
and  theirs.  Hence  the  time-honoured  and  ser- 
viceable metaphor. 

Now  with  me,  in  this  particular  instance  it 
was  all  the  other  way  about — from  insect  to  man 
— seeing  that  it  was  when  occupied  in  watching 
the  small  comedies  and  tragedies  of  the  insect 
world  on  its  stage  that  I  stumbled  by  chance 

3 


B  .  2518 


4  DEAD  MAN'S   PLACK 

upon  a  compelling  reminder  of  one  of  the  great- 
est tragedies  in  England's  history — greatest,  that 
is  to  say,  in  its  consequences.  And  this  is  how 
it  happened. 

One  summer  day  prowling  in  an  extensive  oak 
avood,  in  Hampshire,  known  as  Harewood  For- 
est, I  discovered  that  it  counted  among  its  in-, 
habitants  no  fewer  than  three  species  of  insects 
of  peculiar  interest  to  me,  and  from  that  time  I 
haunted  it,  going  there  day  after  day  to  spend 
long  hours  in  pursuit  of  my  small  quarry.  Not 
to  kill  and  preserve  their  diminutive  corpses  in 
a  cabinet,  but  solely  to  witness  the  comedy  of 
their  brilliant  little  lives.  And  as  I  used  to  take 
my  luncheon  in  my  pocket  I  fell  into  the  habit  of 
going  to  a  particular  spot,  some  opening  in  the 
dense  wood  with  a  big  tree  to  lean  against  and 
give  me  shade,  where  after  refreshing  myself 
with  food  and  drink  I  could  smoke  my  pipe  in 
solitude  and  peace.  Eventually  I  came  to  pre- 
fer one  spot  for  my  midday  rest  in  the  central 
part  of  the  wood,  where  a  stone  cross,  slender, 
beautifully  proportioned  and  about  eighteen 
feet  high,  had  been  erected  some  seventy  or 
eighty  years  before  by  the  lord  of  the  manor. 


PREAMBLE  5 

On  one  side  of  the  great  stone  block  on  which 
the  cross  stood  there  was  an  inscription  which 
told  that  it  was  placed  there  to  mark  the  spot 
known  from  of  old  as  Dead  Man's  Plack;  that, 
according  to  tradition,  handed  from  father  to 
son,  it  was  just  here  that  King  Edgar  slew  his 
friend  and  favourite,  Earl  Athelwold,  when 
hunting  in  the  forest. 

I  had  sat  there  on  many  occasions  and  had 
glanced  from  time  to  time  at  the  inscription  cut 
on  the  stone,  once  actually  reading  it,  without 
having  my  attention  drawn  away  from  the  in- 
sect world  I  was  living  in.  It  was  not  the  tra- 
dition of  the  Saxon  king  nor  the  beauty  of  the 
cross  in  that  green  wilderness  which  drew  me 
daily  to  the  spot,  but  its  solitariness  and  the  little 
open  space  where  I  could  sit  in  the  shade  and 
have  my  rest. 

Then  something  happened.  Some  friends 
from  town  came  down  to  me  at  the  hamlet  I 
was  staying  at,  and  one  of  the  party,  the  mother 
of  most  of  them,  was  not  only  older  than  the  rest 
of  us  in  years  but  also  in  knowledge  and  wisdom; 
and  at  the  same  time  she  was  younger  than  the 
youngest  of  us  since  she  had  the  curious  mind, 


6  DEAD  MAN'S  PLACK 

the  undying  interest  in  everything  on  earth — the 
secret,  in  fact,  of  everlasting  youth.  Naturally, 
being  of  this  temperament,  she  wanted  to  know 
what  I  was  doing  and  all  about  what  I  had  seen, 
even  to  the  minutest  detail — the  smallest  insect — 
and  in  telling  her  of  my  days  I  spoke  casually  of 
the  cross  placed  at  a  spot  called  Dead  Man's 
Plack.  This  at  once  reminded  her  of  something 
she  had  heard  about  it  before,  but  long  ago,  in 
the  seventies  of  last  century;  then  presently  it  all 
came  back  to  her  and  it  proved  to  me  an  interest- 
ing story. 

It  chanced  that  in  that  far  back  time  she  was 
in  correspondence  on  certain  scientific  and 
literary  subjects  with  a  gentleman  who  was  a 
native  of  this  part  of  Hampshire  in  which  we 
were  staying,  and  that  they  got  into  a  discussion 
about  Freeman,  the  historian,  during  which  he 
told  her  of  an  incident  of  his  undergraduate  days 
when  Freeman  was  professor  at  Oxford.  He  at- 
tended a  lecture  by  that  man  oil  the  Mythical 
and  Romantic  Elements  in  Early  English  History 
in  which  he  stated  for  the  guidance  of  all  who 
study  the  past,  that  they  must  always  bear  in 
mind  the  inevitable  passion  for  romance  in  men, 


PREAMBLE  7 

especially  the  uneducated,  and  that  when  the 
student  comes  upon  a  romantic  incident  in  early 
history  even  when  it  accords  with  the  known 
character  of  the  person  it  relates  to,  he  must  re- 
ject it  as  false.  Then,  to  rub  the  lesson  in,  he 
gave  an  account  of  the  most  flagrant  of  the  ro- 
mantic lies  contained  in  the  history  of  the  Saxon 
kings.  This  was  the  story  of  King  Edgar  and 
how  his  favourite.  Earl  Athelwold,  deceived  him 
as  to  the  reputed  beauty  of  Elfrida,  and  how 
Edgar  in  revenge  slew  Athelwold  with  his  own 
hand  when  hunting.  Then — to  show  how  false  it 
all  was ! — Edgar,  the  chronicles  state,  was  at  Salis- 
bury and  rode  in  one  day  to  Harewood  Forest 
and  there  slew  Athelwold.  Now,  said  Freeman, 
as  Harewood  Forest  is  in  Yorkshire  Edgar  could 
not  have  ridden  there  from  Salisbury  in  one  day, 
nor  in  two,  nor  in  three,  which  was  enough  to 
show  that  the  whole  story  was  a  fabrication. 

The  undergraduate,  listening  to  the  lecturer, 
thought  the  Professor  was  wrong  owing  to  his 
ignorance  of  the  fact  that  the  Harewood  Forest 
in  which  the  deed  was  done  was  in  Hampshire, 
within  a  day's  ride  from  Salisbury,  and  that  local 
tradition  points  to  the  very  spot  in  the  forest 


8  DEAD  MAN'S   PLACK 

where  Athelwold  was  slain.  Accordingly  he 
wrote  to  the  Professor  and  gave  him  these  facts. 
His  letter  was  not  answered;  and  the  poor  youth 
felt  hurt,  as  he  thought  he  was  doing  Professor 
Freeman  a  service  by  telling  him  something  he 
didn't  know.  He  didn't  know  his  Professor 
Freeman. 

This  story  about  Freeman  tickled  me  because 
I  dislike  him,  but  if  anyone  were  to  ask  me  why 
I  dislike  him  I  should  probably  have  to  answer 
like  a  woman:  Because  I  do.  Or  if  stretched  on 
the  rack  until  I  could  find  or  invent  a  better 
reason,  I  should  perhaps  says  it  was  because  he 
was  so  infernally  cock-sure,  so  convinced  that  he 
and  he  alone  had  the  power  of  distinguishing 
between  the  true  and  false;  also  that  he  was  so 
arbitrary  and  arrogant  and  ready  to  trample  on 
those  who  doubted  his  infallibility. 

All  this,  I  confess,  would  not  be  much  to  say 
against  him,  seeing  that  it  is  nothing  but  the 
ordinary  professorial  or  academic  mind,  and  I 
suppose  that  the  only  difference  between  Free- 
man and  the  ruck  of  the  professors  was  that  he 
was  more  impulsive  or  articulate  and  had  a 
greater  facility  in  expressing  his  scorn. 


PREAMBLE  9 

Here  I  may  mention  in  passing  that  when  this 
lecture  appeared  in  print  in  his  Historical 
Essays  he  had  evidently  been  put  out  a  little  and 
also  put  on  his  mettle  by  that  letter  from  an  un- 
dergraduate and  had  gone  more  deeply  into  the 
documents  relating  to  the  incident,  seeing  that  he 
now  relied  mainly  on  the  discrepancies  in  half 
a  dozen  chronicles  he  was  able  to  point  out  to 
prove  its  falsity.  His  former  main  argument 
now  appeared  as  a  "small  matter  of  detail" — a 
"confusion  of  geography"  in  the  different  ver- 
sions of  the  old  historians.  But  one  tells  us, 
Freeman  writes,  that  Athelwold  was  killed  in 
the  Forest  of  Wherwell  on  his  way  to  York,  and 
then  he  says:  "Now  as  Wherwell  is  in  Hamp- 
shire it  could  not  be  on  the  road  to  York";  and 
further  on  he  says:  "Now  Harewood  Forest  in 
Yorkshire  is  certainly  not  the  same  as  Wherwell 
in  Hampshire,"  and  so  on,  and  on,  and  on,  but 
always  careful  not  to  say  that  Wherwell  Forest 
and  Harewood  Forest  are  two  names  for  one  and 
the  same  place,  although  now  the  name  of 
Wherwell  is  confined  to  the  village  on  the  Test 
where  it  is  supposed  Athelwold  had  his  castle 
and  lived  with  his  wife  before  he  was  killed  and 


lo  DEAD  MAN'S  PLACK 

where  Elf  rida  in  her  declining  years,  when  try- 
ing to  make  her  peace  with  God,  came  and  built 
a  Priory  and  took  the  habit  herself  and  there 
finished  her  darkened  life. 

This  then  was  how  he  juggled  with  words  and 
documents  and  chronicles  (his  thimble-rigging), 
making  a  truth  a  lie  or  a  lie  a  truth  according  as 
it  suited  a  froward  and  prejudicate  mind,  to 
quote  the  expression  of  an  older  and  simpler- 
minded  historian — Sir  Walter  Raleigh. 

Finally,  to  wind  up  the  whole  controversy,  he 
says  you  are  to  take  it  as  a  positive  truth  that 
Edgar  married  Elf  rida  and  a  positive  falsehood 
that  Edgar  killed  Athelwold.  Why — seeing 
there  is  as  good  authority  and  reason  for  believ- 
ing the  one  statement  as  the  other?  A  foolish 
question!  Why? — Because  I,  Professor  or  Pope 
Freeman,  say  so. 

The  main  thing  here  is  the  effect  the  Freeman 
anecdote  had  on  me,  which  was  that  when  I 
went  back  to  continue  my  insect-watching  and 
rested  at  noon  at  Dead  Man's  Plack,  the  old 
Legend  would  keep  intruding  itself  on  my  mind, 
until  wishing  to  have  done  with  it,  I  said  and  I 
swore  that  it  was  true — that  the  tradition  pre^ 


PREAMBLE  il 

served  in  the  neighbourhood,  that  on  this  very 
spot  Athelwold  was  slain  by  the  king,  was  better 
than  any  document  or  history.  It  was  an  act 
which  had  been  witnessed  by  many  persons  and 
the  memory  of  it  preserved  and  handed  down 
from  father  to  son  for  thirty  generations;  for  it 
must  be  borne  in  mind  that  the  inhabitants  of 
this  district  of  Andover  and  the  villages  on  the 
Test  have  never  in  the  last  thousand  years  been 
exterminated  or  expelled.  And  ten  centuries  is 
not  so  long  for  an  event  of  so  startling  a  character 
to  persist  in  the  memory  of  the  people  when  we 
consider  that  such  traditions  have  come  down  to 
us  even  from  prehistoric  times  and  have  proved 
true.  Our  archaeologists,  for  example,  after  long 
study  of  the  remains,  cannot  tell  us  how  long  ago 
— centuries  or  thousands  of  years — a  warrior 
with  golden  armour  was  buried  under  the  great 
cairn  at  Mold  in  Flintshire. 

And  now  the  curious  part  of  all  this  matter 
comes  in.  Having  taken  my  side  in  the  contro- 
versy and  made  my  pronouncement,  I  found  that 
I  was  not  yet  free  of  it.  It  remained  with  me 
but  in  a  new  way — not  as  an  old  story  in  old 
books,  but  as  an  event,  or  series  of  events,  now 


12  DEAD  MAN'S  PLACK 

being  re-enacted  before  my  very  eyes.  I  actually 
saw  and  heard  it  all,  from  the  very  beginning  to 
the  dreadful  end;  and  this  is  what  I  am  now  go- 
ing to  relate.  But  whether  or  not  I  shall  in  my 
relation  be  in  close  accord  with  what  history  tells 
us  I  know  not  nor  does  it  matter  in  the  least. 
For  just  as  the  religious  mystic  is  exempt  from 
the  study  of  theology  and  the  whole  body  of  re- 
ligious doctrine  and  from  all  the  observances 
necessary  to  those  who  in  fear  and  trembling  are 
seeking  their  salvation;  even  so  those  who  have 
been  brought  to  the  Gate  of  Remembrance  are 
independent  of  written  documents,  chronicles 
and  histories  and  of  the  weary  task  of  separating 
the  false  from  the  true.  They  have  better  sources 
of  information.  For  I  am  not  so  vain  as  to 
imagine  for  one  moment  that  without  such  ex- 
ternal aid  I  am  able  to  make  shadows  breathe, 
revive  the  dead,  and  know  what  silent  mouths 
once  said. 


When,  sitting  at  noon  in  the  shade  of  an  oaK- 
tree  at  Dead  Man's  Plack,  I  beheld  Edgar,  I 
almost  ceased  to  wonder  at  the  miracle  that  had 
happened  in  this  war-mad,  desolated  England, 
where  Saxon  and  Dane,  like  two  infuriated  bull- 
dogs, were  everlastingly  at  grips,  striving  to  tear 
each  other's  throats  out,  and  deluging  the  coun- 
try with  blood;  when,  ceasing  from  their  strife, 
they  had  all  at  once  agreed  to  live  in  peace  and 
unity  side  by  side  under  the  young  king;  and  this 
seemingly  unnatural  state  of  things  endured 
even  to  the  end  of  his  life,  on  which  account  he 
was  called  Edgar  the  Peaceful. 

He  was  beautiful  in  person  and  had  infinite 
charm  and  these  gifts  together  with  the  kingly 
qualities,  which  have  won  the  admiration  of  all 
men  of  all  ages,  endeared  him  to  his  people.  He 
was  but  thirteen  when  he  came  to  be  king  of 
united  England  and  small  for  his  age,  but  even 

13 


14  DEAD  MAN'S   PLACK 

in  those  terrible  times  he  was  remarkable  for  his 
courage,  both  physical  and  moral.  Withal  he 
had  a  subtle  mind;  indeed  I  think  he  surpassed 
all  our  kings  of  the  past  thousand  years  in  com- 
bining so  many  excellent  qualities.  His  was  the 
wisdom  of  the  serpent  combined  with  the  gentle- 
ness— I  will  not  say  of  the  dove,  but  rather  of  the 
cat,  our  little  tiger  on  the  hearthrug,  the  most 
beautiful  of  four-footed  things,  so  lithe,  so  soft, 
of  so  affectionate  a  disposition,  yet  capable  when 
suddenly  roused  to  anger  of  striking  with  light- 
ning rapidity  and  rending  the  offender's  flesh 
with  its  cruel  unsheathed  claws. 

Consider  the  line  he  took,  even  as  a  boy!  He 
recognised,  among  all  those  who  surrounded  him, 
in  his  priestly  adviser  the  one  man  of  so  great  a 
mind  as  to  be  capable  of  assisting  him  effectually 
in  ruling  so  divided,  war-loving  and  revengeful 
a  people,  and  he  allowed  him  practically  un- 
limited power  to  do  as  he  liked.  He  went  even 
further  by  pretending  to  fall  in  with  Dun- 
stan's  ambitions  of  purging  the  Church  of  the 
order  of  priests  or  half-priests,  or  canons,  who 
were  in  possession  of  most  of  the  religious  houses 
Ml  England  and  v^ere  priests  that  married  wives 


DEAD  MAN'S  PLACK  15 

and  owned  lands  and  had  great  power.  Against 
this  monstrous  state  of  things  Edgar  rose  up  in 
his  simulated  wrath  and  cried  out  to  Archbishop 
Dunstan  in  a  speech  he  delivered  to  sweep  them 
away  and  purify  the  Church  and  country  from 
such  a  scandal! 

But  Edgar  himself  had  a  volcanic  heart  and 
to  witness  it  in  full  eruption  it  was  only  necessary 
to  convey  to  him  the  tidings  of  some  woman  of 
a  rare  loveliness;  and  have  her  he  would,  in  spite 
of  all  laws  human  and  divine;  thus  when  in- 
flamed with  passion  for  a  beautiful  nun  he  did 
not  hesitate  to  smash  the  gates  of  a  convent  to 
drag  her  forth  and  forcibly  make  her  his  mis- 
tress. And  this  too  was  a  dreadful  scandal  but 
no  great  pother  could  be  made  about  it,  seeing 
that  Edgar  was  so  powerful  a  friend  of  the 
church  and  pure  religion. 

Now  all  the  foregoing  is  contained  in  the  his- 
tories but  in  what  follows  I  have  for  sole  light 
and  guide  the  vision  that  came  to  me  at  Dead 
Man's  Plack,  and  have  only  to  add  to  this  intro- 
ductory note  that  Edgar  at  the  early  age  of 
twenty-two  was  a  widower,  having  already  had 


i6  DEAD  MAN'S  PLACK 

to  wife  Ethelfled  the  Fair,  who  was  famous  for 
her  beauty,  and  who  died  shortly  after  giving 
birth  to  a  child  who  lived  to  figure  later  in  his- 
tory as  one  of  England's  many  Edwards. 


II 


Now  although  King  Edgar  had  dearly  loved 
his  wife,  who  was  also  beloved  by  all  his  people 
on  account  of  her  sweet  and  gentle  disposition 
as  well  as  of  her  exceeding  beauty,  it  was  not  in 
his  nature  to  brood  long  over  such  a  loss.  He  had 
too  keen  a  zest  for  life  and  the  many  interests 
and  pleasures  it  had  for  him  ever  to  become  a 
melancholy  man.  It  was  a  delight  to  him  to  be 
king  and  to  perform  all  kingly  duties  and  offices. 
Also  he  was  happy  in  his  friends,  especially  in 
his  favourite,  the  Earl  Athelwold,  who  was  like 
him  in  character,  a  man  after  his  own  heart. 
They  were  indeed  like  brothers  and  some  of 
those  who  surrounded  the  king  were  not  too  well 
pleased  to  witness  this  close  intimacy.  Both 
were  handsome  men,  witty,  of  a  genial  disposi- 
tion, yet  under  a  light  careless  manner  brave  and 
ardent,  devoted  to  the  pleasure  of  the  chase  and 
all  other  pleasures  especially  to  those  bestowed 

17 


i8  DEAD  MAN'S  PLACK 

by  golden  Aphrodite,  their  chosen  saint,  albeit 
her  name  did  not  figure  in  the  Calendar. 

Hence  it  was  not  strange,  when  certain  reports 
of  the  wonderful  beauty  of  a  woman  in  the  West 
Country  were  brought  to  Edgar's  ears  that  his 
heart  began  to  burn  within  him  and  that  by  and 
by  he  opened  himself  to  his  friend  on  the  sub- 
ject. He  told  Athelwold  that  he  had  discovered 
the  one  woman  in  England  fit  to  be  Ethelfled's 
successor  and  that  he  had  resolved  to  make  her 
his  queen  although  he  had  never  seen  her,  since 
she  and  her  father  had  never  been  to  court.  That 
however  would  not  deter  him:  there  was  no 
other  woman  in  the  land  whose  claims  were 
equal  to  hers,  seeing  that  she  was  the  only  daugh- 
ter and  part  heiress  of  one  of  the  greatest  men  in 
the  kingdom,  Ongar,  Earldoman  of  Devon  and 
Somerset,  a  man  of  vast  possessions  and  great 
power.  Yet  all  that  was  of  less  account  to  him 
than  her  fame,  her  personal  worth,  since  she  was 
reputed  to  be  the  most  beautiful  woman  in  the 
land.  It  was  for  her  beauty  that  he  desired  her, 
and  being  of  an  exceedingly  impatient  temper  in 
any  case  in  which  beauty  in  a  woman  was  con- 
cerned, he  desired  his  friend  to  proceed  at  once 


DEAD  MAN'S  PLACK  19 

to  Earl  Ongar  in  Devon  with  an  offer  of  mar- 
riage to  his  daughter  Elfrida,  from  the  King. 

Athelwold  laughed  at  Edgar  in  this  his  most 
solemn  and  kingly  mood  and  with  a  friend's 
privilege  told  him  not  to  be  so  simple  as  to  buy 
a  pig  in  a  poke.  The  lady,  he  said,  had  not  been 
to  court,  consequently  she  had  not  been  seen  by 
those  best  able  to  judge  of  her  reputed  beauty. 
Her  fame  rested  wholly  on  the  report  of  the 
people  of  her  own  country  who  were  great  as 
everyone  knew  at  blowing  their  own  trumpets. 
Their  red  and  green  county  was  England's  para- 
dise; their  men  the  bravest  and  handsomest  and 
their  women  the  most  beautiful  in  the  land.  For 
his  part  he  believed  there  were  as  good  men  and 
as  fair  women  in  Mercia  and  East  Anglia  as  in 
the  West.  Itwould  certainly  be  an  awkward  busi- 
ness if  the  king  found  himself  bound  in  honour 
to  wed  with  a  person  he  did  not  like.  Awkward 
because  of  her  father's  fierce  pride  and  power. 
A  better  plan  would  be  to  send  someone  he  could 
trust  not  to  make  a  mistake  to  find'out  the  truth 
of  the  report. 

Edgar  was  pleased  at  his  friend's  wise  caution 
and  jpraised  him  for  his  candour,  which  was  that 


20  DEAD  MAN'S  PLACK 

of  a  true  friend,  and  as  he  was  the  only  man  he 
could  thoroughly  trust  in  such  a  matter  he  would 
send  him.  Accordingly,  Athelwold,  still  much 
amused  at  Edgar's  sudden  wish  to  make  an  offer 
of  marriage  to  a  woman  he  had  never  seen,  set 
out  on  his  journey  in  great  state  with  many  at- 
tendants, as  befitted  his  person  and  his  mission, 
which  was  ostensibly  to  bear  greetings  and  lov- 
ing messages  from  the  king  to  some  of  his 
most  important  subjects  in  the  West  Country. 

In  this  way  he  travelled  through  Wilts,  Som- 
erset and  Devon  and  in  due  time  arrived  at  Earl 
Ongar's  castle  on  the  Exe. 


Ill 


Athelwold,  who  thought  highly  of  himself, 
had  undertaken  his  mission  with  a  light  heart, 
but  now  when  his  progress  in  the  West  had 
brought  him  to  the  great  Earldoman's  castle  it 
was  borne  in  on  him  that  he  had  put  himself  in 
a  very  responsible  position.  He  was  here  to  look 
at  this  woman  with  cold  critical  eyes,  which  was 
easy  enough;  and  having  looked  at  and  measured 
and  weighed  her  he  would  make  a  true  report  to 
Edgar;  that  too  would  be  easy  for  him,  since  all 
his  power  and  happiness  in  life  depended  on  the 
king's  continual  favour.  But  Ongar  stood  be- 
tween him  and  the  woman  he  had  come  to  see 
and  take  stock  of  with  the  clear,  unbiassed  judg- 
ment which  he  could  safely  rely  on.  And  Ongar 
was  a  proud  and  stern  old  man,  jealous  of  his 
great  position,  who  had  not  hesitated  to  say  on 
Edgar*s  accession  to  the  kingship,  knowing  well 
that  his  words  would  be  reported  in  due  time, 
that  he  refused  to  be  one  of  the  crowd  who  came 

21 


22  DEAD  MAN'S  PLACK 

flocking  from  all  over  the  land  to  pay  homage  to 
a  boy.  It  thus  came  about  that  neither  then  nor 
at  any  subsequent  period  had  there  been  any  per- 
sonal relations  between  the  king  and  this  English 
subject  who  was  prouder  than  all  the  Welsh 
kings  who  had  rushed  at  Edgar's  call  to  make 
their  submission. 

But  now  when  Ongar  had  been  informed  that 
the  king's  intimate  friend  and  confidant  was  on 
his  way  to  him  with  greetings  and  loving  mes- 
sages from  Edgar,  he  was  flattered  and  resolved 
to  receive  him  in  a  friendly  and  loyal  spirit  and 
do  him  all  the  honour  in  his  power.  For  Edgar 
was  no  longer  a  boy:  he  was  king  over  all  this 
hitherto  turbulent  realm,  East  and  West  from 
sea  to  sea  and  from  the  Land's  End  to  the  Tweed, 
and  the  strange  enduring  peace  of  the  times  was 
a  proof  of  his  power. 

It  thus  came  to  pass  that  Athelwold's  mission 
was  made  smooth  to  him,  and  when  they  met  and 
conversed  the  fierce  old  Earl  was  so  well  pleased 
with  his  visitor  that  all  trace  of  the  sullen  hos- 
tility he  had  cherished  towards  the  court  passed 
away  like  the  shadow  of  a  cloud.  And  later,  in 
the  banqueting  room,  Athelwold  came  face  to 


DEAD  MAN'S  PLACK  23 

face  with  the  woman  he  had  come  to  look  at  with 
cold  critical  eyes  like  one  who  examines  a  horse 
in  the  interests  of  a  friend  who  desires  to  become 
its  purchaser. 

Down  to  that  fatal  moment  the  one  desire  of 
his  heart  was  to  serve  his  friend  faithfully  in  this 
delicate  business.  Now,  the  first  sight  of  her, 
the  first  touch  of  her  hand,  wrought  a  change  in 
him  and  all  thought  of  Edgar  and  of  the  pur- 
pose of  his  visit  vanished  out  of  his  mind.  Even 
he,  one  of  the  great  nobles  of  his  time,  the  ac- 
complished courtier  and  life  of  the  court,  stood 
silent  like  a  person  spell-bound  before  this 
woman  who  had  been  to  no  court  but  had  lived 
always  with  that  sullen  old  man  in  comparative 
seclusion  in  a  remote  province.  It  was  not  only 
the  beautiful  dignity  and  graciousness  with 
which  she  received  him,  with  the  exquisite 
beauty  in  the  lines  and  colour  of  her  face  and  her 
hair  which  if  unloosed  would  have  covered  her 
to  the  knees  as  with  a  splendid  mantle.  That 
hair  of  a  colour  comparable  only  to  that  of  the 
sweet  gale  when  that  sweet  plant  is  in  its  golden 
withy  or  catkin  stage  in  the  month  of  May  and 
is  clothed  with  catkins  as  with  a  foliage  of  a  deeg 


24  DEAD  MAN'S  PLACK 

shining  red  gold  that  seems  not  a  colour  of  earth 
but  rather  one  distilled  from  the  sun  itself.  Nor 
was  it  the  colour  of  her  eyes,  the  deep  pure  blue 
of  the  lungwort,  that  blue  loveliness  seen  in  no 
other  flower  on  earth.  Rather  it  was  the  light 
from  her  eyes  which  was  like  lightning  that 
pierced  and  startled  him;  for  that  light,  that  ex- 
pression, was  a  living  spirit  looking  through  his 
eyes  into  the  depths  of  his  soul,  knowing  all  its 
strength  and  weakness  and  in  the  same  instant 
resolving  to  make  it  her  own  and  have  dominion 
over  it. 

It  was  only  when  he  had  escaped  from  the 
power  and  magic  of  her  presence,  when  alone  in 
his  sleeping  room,  that  reflection  came  to  him 
and  the  recollection  of  Edgar  and  of  his  mission. 
And  there  was  dismay  in  the  thought.  For  the 
woman  was  his,  part  and  parcel  of  his  heart  and 
soul  and  life;  for  that  was  what  her  lightning 
glance  had  said  to  him,  and  she  could  not  be 
given  to  another.  No,  not  to  the  king!  Had  any 
man,  any  friend,  ever  been  placed  in  so  terrible 
a  position!  Honour?  Loyalty?  To  whichever 
side  he  inclined  he  could  not  escape  the  crime, 
the  base  betrayal  and  abandonment !  But  loyalty 


DEAD  MAN'S  PLACK  25 

to  the  king  would  be  the  greater  crime.  Had  not 
Edgar  himself  broken  every  law  of  God  and  man 
to  gratify  his  passion  for  a  woman?  Not  a 
woman  like  this!  Never  would  Edgar  look  on 
her  until  he,  Athelwold,  had  obeyed  her  and  his 
own  heart  and  made  her  his  for  ever!  And  what 
would  come  then?  He  would  not  consider  it — 
he  would  perish  rather  than  yield  her  to  another! 
That  was  how  the  question  came  before  him, 
and  how  it  was  settled,  during  the  long  sleepless 
'hours  when  his  blood  was  in  a  fever  and  his 
brain  on  fire;  but  when  day  dawned  and  his 
blood  grew  cold  and  his  brain  was  tired,  the 
image  of  Edgar  betrayed  and  in  a  deadly  rage 
became  insistent  and  he  rose  desponding  and  in 
dread  of  the  meeting  to  come.  And  no  sooner 
did  he  meet  her  than  she  overcame  him  as  on  the 
previous  day;  and  so  it  continued  during  the 
whole  period  of  his  visit,  racked  with  passion, 
drawn  now  to  this  side,  now  to  that,  and  when 
he  was  most  resolved  to  have  her  then  most 
furiously  assaulted  by  loyalty,  by  friendship,  by 
honour,  and  he  was  like  a  stag  at  bay  fighting  for 
his  life  against  the  hounds.  And  every  time  he 
met  her,  and  the  passionate  words  he  dared  not 


26  DEAD  MAN'S  PLACK 

speak  were  like  confined  fire,  burning  him  up  in- 
wardly, seeing  him  pale  and  troubled  she  would 
greet  him  with  a  smile  and  look  which  told  him 
she  knew  that  he  was  troubled  in  heart,  that  a 
great  conflict  was  raging  in  him,  also  that  it  was 
on  her  account  and  was  perhaps  because  he  had 
already  bound  himself  to  some  other  woman, 
some  great  lady  of  the  land ;  and  now  this  new 
passion  had  come  to  him.  And  her  smile  and 
look  were  like  the  world-irradiating  sun  when  it 
rises,  and  the  black  menacing  cloud  that  brooded 
over  his  soul  would  fade  and  vanish,  and  he  knew 
that  she  had  again  claimed  him  and  that  he  was 
hers. 

So  it  continued  till  the  very  moment  of  parting 
and  again  as  on  their  first  meeting  he  stood  silent 
and  troubled  before  her;  then  in  faltering  words 
told  her  that  the  thought  of  her  would  travel  and 
be  with  him;  that  in  a  little  while,  perhaps  in  a 
month  or  two,  he  would  be  rid  of  a  great  matter 
which  had  been  weighing  heavily  on  his  mind, 
and  once  free  he  could  return  to  Devon,  if  she 
would  consent  to  his  paying  her  another  visit. 

She  replied  smilingly  with  gracious  words, 
with  no  change  from  that  exquisite,  perfect  dig- 


DEAD  MAN'S  PLACK  27 

nity  which  was  always  hers;  nor  tremor  in  her 
speech,  but  only  that  understanding  look  from 
her  eyes,  which  said :  Yes,  you  shall  come  back  to 
me  in  good  time,  when  you  have  smoothed  the 
way,  to  claim  me  for  your  own. 


IV 


On  Athelwold's  return  the  king  embraced  him 
warmly  and  was  quick  to  observe  a  change  in 
him — the  thinner,  paler  face  and  appearance 
generally  of  one  lately  recovered  from  a  griev- 
ous illness  or  who  had  been  troubled  in  mind. 
Athelwold  explained  that  it  had  been  a  painful 
visit  to  him,  due  in  the  first  place  to  the  anxiety 
he  experienced  of  being  placed  in  so  responsible 
a  position,  and  in  the  second  place  the  misery  it 
was  to  him  to  be  the  guest  for  many  days  of  such 
a  person  as  the  earldoman,  a  man  of  a  rough, 
harsh  aspect  and  manner  who  daily  made  him- 
self drunk  at  table,  after  which  he  would  grow 
intolerably  garrulous  and  boastful.  Then,  when 
his  host  had  been  carried  to  bed  by  his  servants, 
his  own  wakeful  troubled  hours  would  begin. 
For  at  first  he  had  been  struck  by  the  woman's 
fine  handsome  presence,  albeit  she  was  not  the 
peerless  beauty  she  had  been  reported;  but  when 
he  had  seen  her  often  and  more  closely  and  had 

28 


DEAD  MAN'S  PLACK  29 

jonversed  with  her  he  had  been  disappointed. 
There  was  something  lacking;  she  had  not  the 
softness,  the  charm,  desirable  in  a  woman;  she 
had  something  of  her  parent's  harshness,  and  his 
final  judgment  was  that  she  was  not  a  suitable 
person  for  the  king  to  marry. 

Edgar  was  a  little  cast  down  at  first,  tut 
quickly  recovering  his  genial  manner  thanked 
his  friend  for  having  served  him  so  well. 

For  several  weeks  following  the  king  and  the 
king's  favourite  were  constantly  together;  and 
during  that  period  Athelwold  developed  a  pe- 
culiar sweetness  and  afifection  towards  Edgar, 
often  recalling  to  him  their  happy  boyhood  days 
in  East  Anglia  when  they  were  like  brothers  and 
cemented  the  close  friendship  which  was  to  last 
them  for  the  whole  of  their  lives.  Finally,  when 
it  seemed  to  his  friend's  watchful,  crafty  mind 
that  Edgar  had  cast  the  whole  subject  of  his  wish 
to  marry  Elfrida  into  oblivion  and  that  the  time 
was  now  ripe  for  carrying  out  his  own  scheme, 
he  reopened  the  subject,  and  said  that  although 
the  lady  was  not  a  suitable  person  to  be  the  king's 
wife  it  would  be  good  policy  on  his,  Athelwold's, 
part,  to  win  her  on  account  of  her  position  as 

V 


30  DEAD  MAN'S   PLACK 

only  daughter  and  part  heiress  of  Ongar,  who 
had  great  power  and  possessions  in  the  West. 
But  he  would  not  move  in  the  matter  without 
Edgar's  consent. 

Edgar,  ever  ready  to  do  anything  to  please  his 
friend,  freely  gave  it  and  only  asked  him  to  give 
an  assurance  that  the  secret  object  of  his  former 
visit  to  Devon  would  remain  inviolate.  Accord- 
ingly Athelwold  took  a  solemn  oath  that  it  would 
never  be  revealed,  and  Edgar  then  slapped  him 
on  the  back  and  wished  him  Godspeed  in  his 
wooing. 

Very  soon  after  thus  smoothing  the  way, 
Athelwold  returned  to  Devon  and  was  once 
more  in  the  presence  of  the  woman  who  had  so 
enchanted  him,  with  that  same  meaning  smile  on 
her  lips  and  light  in  her  eyes  which  had  been  her 
good-bye  and  her  greeting,  only  now  it  said  to 
him — You  have  returned  as  I  knew  you  would 
and  I  am  ready  to  give  myself  to  you. 

From  every  point  of  view  it  was  a  suitable 
union,  seeing  that  Athelwold  would  inherit 
power  and  great  possessions  from  his  father, 
Earldoman  of  East  Anglia,  and  before  long  the 
marriage,  took  place,  and  by  and  by  Athelwold 


DEAD  MAN'S  PLACK  31 

took  his  wife  to  Wessex,  to  the  castle  he  had 
built  for  himself  on  the  estate  of  Wherwell,  on 
the  Test.  There  they  lived  together  and  as  they< 
had  married  for  love  they  were  happy. 

But  as  the  king's  intimate  friend  and  the  com- 
panion of  many  of  his  frequent  journeys  he  could 
not  always  bide  with  her  nor  be  with  her  for  any 
great  length  of  time.  For  Edgar  had  a  restless 
spirit  and  was  exceedingly  vigilant  and  liked  to 
keep  a  watchful  eye  on  the  different  lately  hostile 
nations  of  Mercia,  East  Anglia,  and  North- 
umberland, so  that  his  journeys  were  many 
and  long  to  these  distant  parts  of  his  kingdom. 
And  he  also  had  his  naval  forces  to  inspect  at 
frequent  intervals.  Thus  it  came  about  that  he 
was  often  absent  from  her  for  weeks  and  months 
at  a  stretch.  And  so  the  time  went  on  and  during 
these  long  absences  a  change  would  come  over 
Elfrida;  the  lovely  colour,  the  enchanting  smile, 
the  light  of  her  eyes — the  outward  sign  of  an  in- 
tense brilliant  life — would  fade,  and  with  eyes 
cast  down  she  would  pace  the  floors  or  the  paths 
or  sit  brooding  in  silence  by  the  hour. 

Of  all  this  Athelwold  knew  nothing,  since  she 
made  no  complaint,  and  when  he  returned  to  her 


32  DEAD  MAN'S  PLACK 

the  light  and  life  and  brilliance  would  be  hers 
again  and  there  was  no  cloud  or  shadow  on  his 
delight.  But  the  cloud  would  come  back  over 
her  when  he  again  went  away.  Her  only  relief 
in  her  condition  was  to  sit  before  a  fire  or  when 
out  of  doors  to  seat  herself  on  the  bank  of  the 
stream  and  watch  the  current.  For  although  it 
was  still  summer,  the  month  being  August,  she 
would  have  a  fire  of  logs  lighted  in  a  large  cham- 
ber and  sit  staring  at  the  flames  by  the  hour,  and 
sometimes  holding  her  outstretched  hands  be- 
fore the  flames  until  they  were  hot  she  would 
then  press  them  to  her  lips.  Or  when  the  day 
was  warm  and  bright  she  would  be  out  of  doors 
and  spend  hours  by  the  river  gazing  at  the  swift 
crystal  current  below  as  if  fascinated  by  the  sight 
of  the  running  water.  It  is  a  marvellously  clear 
water,  so  that  looking  down  on  it  you  can  see  the 
rounded  pebbles  in  all  their  various  colours  and 
markings  lying  at  the  bottom,  and  if  there  should 
be  a  trout  lying  there  facing  the  current  and 
slowly  waving  his  tail  from  side  to  side  you  could 
count  the  red  spots  on  his  side,  so  clear  is  the 
water.  Even  more  did  the  floating  water-grass 
hold  her  gaze — that  bright  green  grass  that, 


DEAD  MAN'S  PLACK  33 

rooted  in  the  bed  of  the  stream,  sends  its  thin 
blades  to  the  surface  where  they  float  and  wave 
like  green  floating  hair.  Stooping,  she  would 
dip  a  hand  in  the  stream  and  watch  the  bright, 
clear  water  running  through  the  fingers  of  her 
white  hand,  then  press  the  hand  to  her  lips. 

Then  again  when  day  declined  she  would  quit 
the  stream  to  sit  before  the  blazing  logs,  staring 
at  the  flames.    What  am  I  doing  here?  she  would 
murmur.    And  what  is  this  my  life?    When  I 
was  at  home  in  Devon  I  had  a  dream  of  Win- 
chester, of  Salisbury,  or  other  great  towns  fur- 
ther away,  where  the  men  and  women  who  are 
great  in  the  land  meet  together  and  where  my 
eyes  would  perchance  sometimes  have  the  happi- 
ness to  behold  the  king  himself — my  husband's 
close  friend  and  companion.     My  waking  has 
brought  a  different  scene  before  me;  this  castle 
in  the  wilderness,  a  solitude  where  from  an  up- 
per window  I  look  upon  leagues  of  forest,  a 
haunt  of  wild  animals.    I  see  great  birds  soaring 
in  the  sky  and  listen  to  the  shrill  screams  of  kite 
and  buzzard;  and  sometimes  when  lying  awake 
on  a  still  night  the  distant  long  howl  of  a  wolf. 
Also,  it  is  said,  there  are  great  stags,  and  roe- 


34^  DEAD  MAN'S  PLACK 

deer,  and  wild  boars  and  it  is  Athelwold's  joy  to 
hunt  them  and  slay  them  with  his  spear.  A  joy 
too  when  he  returns  from  the  hunt  or  from  a  long 
absence  to  play  with  his  beautiful  wife — his 
caged  bird  of  pretty  feathers  and  a  sweet  song  to 
soothe  him  when  he  is  tired.  But  of  his  life  at 
court  he  tells  me  little  and  of  even  that  little  I 
doubt  the  truth.  Then  he  leaves  me  and  I  am 
alone  with  his  retainers — the  crowd  of  serving 
men  and  women  and  the  armed  men  to  safeguard 
me.  I  am  alone  with  my  two  friends  which  I 
have  found,  one  out  of  doors  the  other  in, — the 
river  which  runs  at  the  bottom  of  the  ground 
where  I  take  my  walks  and  the  fire  I  sit  before. 
The  two  friends,  companions,  and  lovers  to 
whom  all  the  secrets  of  my  soul  are  confided.  I 
love  them,  having  no  other  in  the  world  to  love, 
and  here  I  hold  my  hands  before  the  flames  until 
it  is  hot  and  then  kiss  the  heat,  and  by  the  stream 
I  kiss  my  wetted  hands.  And  if  I  were  to  remain 
here  until  this  life  became  unendurable  I  should 
consider  as  to  which  one  of  these  two  lovers  I 
should  give  myself.  This  one  I  think  is  too 
ardent  in  his  love — it  would  be  terrible  to  be 
wrapped  round  in  his  fiery  arms  and  feel  his 


DEAD  MAN'S  PLACK  35 

fiery  mouth  on  mine.  I  should  rather  go  to  the 
other  one  to  lie  down  on  his  pebbly  bed  and  give 
myself  to  him  to  hold  me  in  his  cool  shining  arms 
and  mix  his  green  hair  with  my  loosened  hair. 
But  my  wish  is  to  live  and  not  die.  Let  me  then 
wait  a  little  longer:  let  me  watch  and  listen,  and 
perhaps  some  day,  by  and  by,  from  his  own  lips, 
I  shall  capture  the  secret  of  this,  my  caged,  soli- 
tary life. 

And  the  very  next  day  Athelwold,  having  just 
returned  with  the  king  to  Salisbury,  was  once 
more  with  her;  and  the  brooding  cloud  had  van- 
ished from  her  life  and  countenance:  she  was 
once  more  his  passionate  bride,  lavishing 
caresses  on  him,  listening  with  childish  delight 
to  every  word  that  fell  from  his  lips  and  desiring 
no  other  life  and  no  greater  happiness  than  this. 


Yi 


It  was  early  September,  and  the  King  with 
some  of  the  nobles  who  were  with  him,  after 
hunting  the  deer  over  against  Cranbourne,  re- 
turned at  evening  to  Salisbury,  and*after  meat 
with  some  of  his  intimates  they  sat  late  drinking 
wine,  and  fell  into  a  merry,  boisterous  mood. 
They  spoke  of  Athelwold  who  was  not  with  them 
and  indulged  in  some  mocking  remarks  about  his 
frequent  and  prolonged  absences  from  the  King's 
company.  Edgar  took  it  in  good  part  and  smil- 
ingly replied  that  it  had  been  reported  to  him 
that  the  Earl  was  now  wedded  to  a  woman  with  a 
will.  Also  he  knew  that  her  father,  the  great 
Earldoman  of  Devon,  had  been  famed  for  his 
tremendous  physical  strength.  It  was  related  of 
him  that  he  had  once  been  charged  by  a  furious 
bull,  that  he  had  calmly  waited  the  onset  and  had 
dealt  the  animal  a  staggering  blow  with  his  fist 
on  its  head  and  had  then  taken  it  up  in  his  arms 
and  hurled  it  into  the  river  Exe.     If,  he  con- 

36 


DEAD  MAN'S  PLACK  37 

eluded,  the  daughter  had  inherited  something  of 
this  power  it  was  not  to  be  wondered  at  that  she 
was  able  to  detain  her  husband  at  home. 

Loud  laughter  followed  this  pleasantry  of  the 
King's,  then  one  of  the  company  remarked  that 
not  a  woman's  will,  though  it  might  be  like  steel 
of  the  finest  temper,  nor  her  muscular  power, 
would  serve  to  change  Athelwold's  nature  or 
keep  him  from  his  friend,  but  only  a  woman's 
exceeding  beauty. 

Then  Edgar,  seeing  that  he  had  been  put  upon 
the  defence  of  his  absent  friend  and  that  all  of 
them  were  eager  to  hear  his  next  word,  replied 
that  there  was  no  possession  a  man  was  prouder 
of  than  that  of  a  beautiful  wife;  that  it  was  more 
to  him  that  his  own  best  qualities,  his  greatest 
actions,  or  than  titles  and  lands  and  gold.  If 
Athelwold  had  indeed  been  so  happy  as  to  secure 
the  most  beautiful  w^oman  he  would  have  been 
glad  to  bring  her  to  court  to  exhibit  her  to  all — 
friends  and  foes  alike — for  his  own  satisfaction 
and  glory. 

Again  they  greeted  his  speech  with  laughter, 
and  one  cried  out,  "Do  you  believe  it?" 

Then  another,  bolder  still,  exclaimed,  "It's 


38  DEAD  MAN'S   PLACK 

God's  truth  that  she  is  the  fairest  woman  in  the 
land — perhaps  no  fairer  has  been  in  any  land 
since  Helen  of  Troy.  This  I  can  swear  to,"  he 
added,  smiting  the  board  with  his  hand,  "because 
I  have  it  from  one  who  saw  her  at  her  home  in 
Devon  before  her  marriage.  One  v;ho  is  a  bet- 
ter judge  in  such  matters  than  I  am  or  than  any- 
one at  this  table,  not  excepting  the  King,  seeing 
that  he  is  not  only  gifted  with  the  serpent's 
wisdom  but  with  the  creature's  cold  blood  as 
well." 

Edgar  heard  him  frowningly,  then  ended  the 
discussion  by  rising,  and  silence  fell  on  the  com- 
pany, for  all  saw  that  he  was  offended.  But  he 
was  not  offended  with  them,  since  they  knew 
nothing  of  his  and  Athelwold's  secret,  and  what 
they  thought  and  felt  about  his  friend  was  noth- 
ing to  him.  But  these  fatal  words  about  El- 
frida's  beauty  had  pierced  him  with  a  sudden 
suspicion  of  his  friend's  treachery.  And  Athel- 
wold  was  the  man  he  greatly  loved — the  com- 
panion of  all  his  years  since  their  boyhood  to- 
gether. If  he  had  betrayed  him  in  this  mon- 
strous way — wounding  him  in  his  tenderest  part! 
The  very  thought  that  such  a  thing  might  be  was 


DEAD  MAN'S   PLACK  39 

like  a  madness  in  him.  Then  he  reflected — then 
he  remembered,  and  said  to  himself:  "Yes,  let 
me  follow  his  teaching  in  this  matter  too,  as  in 
the  other,  and  exercise  caution  and  look  before 
I  leap.  I  shall  look  and  look  well  and  see  and 
judge  for  myself." 

The  result  was  that  when  his  boon  companions 
next  met  him  there  was  no  shadow  of  displeasure 
in  him,  he  was  in  a  peculiarly  genial  mood  and 
so  continued.  And  when  his  friend  returned  he 
embraced  him  and  gently  upbraided  him  for 
having  kept  away  for  so  long  a  time.  He  begged 
him  to  remember  that  he  was  his  one  friend  and 
confidant  who  was  more  than  a  brother  to  him, 
and  that  if  wholly  deprived  of  his  company  he 
would  regard  himself  as  the  loneliest  man  in  the 
Kingdom.  Then,  in  a  short  time  he  spoke  once 
more  in  the  same  strain  and  said  he  had  not  yet 
sufficiently  honoured  his  friend  before  the  world 
and  that  he  proposed  visiting  him  at  his  own 
castle  to  make  the  acquaintance  of  his  wife  and 
spend  a  day  with  him  hunting  the  boar  in  Hare- 
wood  Forest. 

Athelwold,  secretly  alarmed,  made  a  suitable 
reply  expressing  his  delight  at  the  prospecjl  of 


40  DEAD  MAN'S  PLACK 

receiving  the  King  and  begging  him  to  give  him 
a  couple  of  days'  notice  before  making  his  visit 
so  as  to  give  him  time  to  make  all  preparation 
for  his  entertainment. 

This  the  King  promised  and  also  said  that  this 
would  be  an  informal  visit  to  a  friend,  that  he 
v^ould  go  alone  with  some  of  his  servants  and 
huntsmen  and  ride  there  one  day,  hunt  the  next 
day  and  return  to  Salisbury  on  the  third  day. 
And  a  little  later,  when  the  day  of  his  visit  was 
fixed  on,  Athelwbld  returned  in  haste  with  an 
anxious  mind  to  his  castle. 

Now  his  hard  task  and  the  most  painful 
moment  of  his  life  had  come.  Alone  with 
Elfrida  in  her  chamber  he  cast  himself  down 
before  her  and  with  his  bowed  head  resting  on 
her  knees,  made  a  clean  breast  of  the  whole 
damning  story  of  the  deceit  he  had  practised 
towards  the  King  in  order  to  win  her  for  him- 
self. In  anguish  and  shedding  tears  he  implored 
her  forgiveness,  begging  her  to  think  of  that 
irresistible  power  of  love  she  had  inspired  in 
him,  which  would  have  made  it  worse  than  death 
to  see  her  the  wife  of  another — even  of  Edgar 
himself — his   friend,  the  brother  of  his  soul. 


DEAD  MAN'S  PLACK  41 

Then  he  went  on  to  speak  of  Edgar,  who  was  of 
a  sweet  and  lovable  nature,  yet  capable  of  a 
deadly  fury  against  those  who  offended  him;  and 
this  was  an  offence  he  would  take  more  to  heart 
than  any  other;  he  would  be  implacable  if  he 
once  thought  that  he  had  been  wilfully  deceived, 
and  she  only  could  now  save  them  from  certain 
destruction.  For  now  it  seemed  to  him  that 
Edgar  had  conceived  a  suspicion  that  the  ac- 
count he  had  of  her  was  not  wholly  true,  which 
was  that  she  was  a  handsome  woman  but  not  sur- 
passingly beautiful  as  had  been  reputed,  not 
graceful,  not  charming  in  manner  and  conversa- 
tion. She  could  save  them  by  justifying  his 
description  of  her — by  using  a  woman's  art  to 
lessen  instead  of  enhancing  her  natural  beauty, 
by  putting  away  her  natural  charm  and  power  to 
fascinate  all  who  approached  her. 

Thus  he  pleaded  praying  for  mercy,  even  as  a 
captive  prays  to  his  conqueror  for  life,  and  never 
once  daring  to  lift  his  bowed  head  to  look  at  her 
face;  while  she  sat  motionless  and  silent,  not  a 
word,  not  a  sigh,  escaping  her;  and  she  was  like 
a  woman  carved  in  stone,  with  knees  of  stone  on 
which  his  head  rested. 


42  DEAD  MAN'S   PLACK 

Then,  at  length,  exhausted  with  his  passionate 
pleading  and  frightened  at  her  silence  and 
deadly  stillness,  he  raised  his  head  and  looked  up 
at  her  face  to  behold  it  radiant  and  smiling. 
Then,  looking  down  lovingly  into  his  eyes,  she 
raised  her  hands  to  her  head  and  loosening  the 
great  mass  of  coiled  tresses,  let  them  fall  over 
him,  covering  his  head  and  shoulders  and  back 
as  with  a  splendid  mantle  of  shining  red  gold. 
And  he,  the  awful  fear  now  gone,  continued 
silently  gazing  up  at  her,  absorbed  in  her  won- 
derful loveliness. 

Bending  down  she  put  her  arms  round  his 
neck  and  spoke:"  Do  you  not  know,  O  Athel- 
wold,  that  I  love  you  alone  and  could  love  no 
other,  noble  or  King;  that  without  you  life 
would  not  be  life  to  me?  All  you  have  told  me 
endears  you  more  to  me,  and  all  you  wish  me 
to  do  shall  be  done,  though  it  may  cause  j^our 
king  and  friend  to  think  meanly  of  you  for 
having  given  your  hand  to  one  so  little  worthy 
of  you. 

She  having  thus  spoken,  he  was  ready  to  pour 
forth  his  gratitude  in  burning  words,  but  she 
would  not  have  it.    No  more  words,  she  said, 


DEAD  MAN'S  PLACK  43 

putting  her  hand  on  his  mouth.  Your  anxious 
day  is  over — your  burden  dropped.  Rest  here 
on  the  couch  by  my  side  and  let  me  think  on  all 
there  is  to  plan  and  do  against  to-morrow  even- 
ing. 

And  so  they  w^ere  silent  and  he,  reclining  in 
the  cushions,  watched  her  face  and  saw  her  smile 
and  wondered  what  was  passing  in  her  mind  to 
cause  that  smile.  Doubtless  it  was  something  to 
do  with  the  question  of  her  disguising  arts. 

What  had  caused  her  to  smile  was  a  happy 
memory  of  the  days  with  Athelwold  before  their 
marriage,  when  one  day  he  came  in  to  her  with  a 
leather  bag  in  his  hand  and  said:  Do  you  who 
are  so  beautiful  yourself,  love  all  beautiful 
things?  and  do  you  love  the  beauty  of  gems? 
And  when  she  replied  that  she  loved  gems  above 
all  beautiful  things,  he  poured  out  the  contents 
of  his  bag  in  her  lap — brilliant  sapphires,  rubies, 
emeralds,  opals,  pearls  in  gold  setting,  in  brace- 
lets, necklets,  pendants,  rings  and  brooches.  And 
when  she  gloated  over  this  splendid  gift,  taking 
up  gem  after  gem,  exclaiming  delightedly  at  its 
size  and  colour  and  lustre,  he  told  her  that  he 
once  knew  a  man  who  maintained  that  it  was  2L 


44  DEAD  MAN'S  PLACK 

mistake  for  a  beautiful  woman  to  wear  gems. 
Why?  she  asked,  would  he  have  them  wholly 
unadorned?  No,  he  replied,  he  liked  to 
see  them  wearing  gold,  saying  that  gold  makes 
the  most  perfect  setting  for  a  woman's  beauty, 
just  as  it  does  for  a  precious  stone,  and  its  effect 
is  to  enhance  the  beauty  it  surrounds.  But  the 
woman's  beauty  has  its  meeting  and  central  point 
in  the  eyes  and  the  light  and  soul  in  them  illu- 
mines the  whole  face.  And  in  the  stone  nature 
simulates  the  eye,  and  although  without  a  soul, 
its  brilliant  light  and  colour  make  it  the  equal 
of  the  eye,  and  therefore  when  worn  as  an  orna- 
ment it  competes  with  the  eye  and  in  effect 
lessens  the  beauty  it  is  supposed  to  enhance.  He 
said  that  gems  should  be  worn  only  by  women 
who  are  not  beautiful,  who  must  rely  on  some- 
thing extraneous  to  attract  attention,  since  it 
would  be  better  to  a  homely  woman  that  men 
should  look  at  her  to  admire  a  diamond  or 
sapphire  than  not  to  look  at  her  at  all.  She  had 
laughed  and  asked  him  who  the  man  was  who 
had  such  strange  ideas,  and  he  had  replied  that 
he  had  forgotten  his  name. 
Now,  recalling  this  incident  after  so  long  a 


DEAD  MAN'S  PLACK  45 

time,  it  all  at  once  flashed  into  her  mind  that 
Edgar  was  the  man  he  had  spoken  of;  she  knew, 
now  because,  always  secretly  watchtul,  she  had 
noted  that  he  never  spoke  of  Edgar  or  heard 
Edgar  spoken  of  without  a  slight  subtle  change 
in  the  expression  of  his  face,  also,  if  he  spoke,  in 
the  tone  of  his  voice.  It  was  the  change  that 
comes  into  the  face  and  into  the  tone  when  one 
remembers  or  speaks  of  the  person  most  loved- 
in  all  the  world.  And  she  remembered  now  that 
he  had  that  changed  expression  and  tone  of  voice 
when  he  had  spoken  of  the  man  whose  name  he 
pretended  to  have  forgotten. 

And  while  she  sat  thinking  of  this  it  grew 
dark  in  the  room,  the  light  of  the  fire  having 
died  down.  Then  presently,  in  the  profound 
stillness  of  the  room,  she  heard  the  sound  of  his 
deep,  regular  breathing  and  knew  that  he  slept 
and  that  it  was  a  sweet  sleep  after  his  anxious 
day.  Going  softly  to  the  hearth,  she  moved  the 
yet  still  glowing  logs  until  they  sent  up  a  sudden 
flame  and  the  light  fell  upon  the  sleeper's  still 
face.  Turning,  she  gazed  steadily  at  it — the  face 
of  the  man  who  had  won  her;  but  her  own  face 
in  the  firelight  was  white  and  still  and  wore  a 


46  DEAD  MAN'S  PLACK 

strange  expression.  Now  she  moved  noiselessly 
to  his  side  and  bent  down  as  if  to  whisper  in  his 
ear,  but  suddenly  drew  back  again  and  moved 
towards  the  door,  then  turning,  gazed  once  more 
at  his  face  and  murmured :  No,  no,  even  a  word 
faintly  whispered  would  bring  him  a  dream  and 
it  is  better  his  sleep  should  be  dreamless.  For 
now  he  has  had  his  day  and  it  is  finished,  and 
to-morrow  is  mine. 


VI 


On  the  following  day  Athelwold  was  occupied 
with  preparations  for  the  King's  reception  and 
for  the  next  day's  boar  hunt  in  the  forest.  At  the 
same  time  he  was  still  somewhat  anxious  as  to  his 
wife's  more  difficult  part  and  from  time  to  time 
he  came  to  see  and  consult  with  her.  He  then 
observed  a  singular  change  in  her,  both  in  her 
appearance  and  conduct.  No  longer  the  radiant, 
loving  Elfrida,  her  beauty  now  had  been 
dimmed  and  she  was  unsmiling  and  her  manner 
towards  him  repellent.  She  had  nothing  to  say 
to  him  except  that  she  wished  him  to  leave  her 
alone.  Accordingly  he  withdrew,  feeling  a  little 
hurt  and  at  the  same  time  admiring  her  extraor- 
dinary skill  in  disguising  her  natural  loveliness 
and  charm,  but  almost  fearing  that  she  was  mak- 
ing too  great  a  change  in  her  appearance. 

Thus  passed  the  day  and  in  the  late  afternoon 
Edgar  duly  arrived,  and  when  he  had  rested  a 
little  was  conducted  to  the  banqueting   room 


48  DEAD  MAN'S  PLACK 

where  the  meeting  with   Elfrida  would  take 
place. 

Then  Elfrida  came,  and  Athelwold  hastened 
to  the  entrance  to  take  her  hand  and  conduct  her 
to  the  King;  then,  seeing  her,  he  stood  still  and 
stared  in  silent  astonishment  and  dismay  at  the 
change  he  saw  in  her,  for  never  before  had  he 
beheld  her  so  beautiful,  so  queenly  and  mag- 
nificent. What  did  it  mean — did  she  wish  to 
destroy  him?  Seeing  the  state  he  was  in,  she 
placed  her  hand  in  his  and  murmured  softly,  "I 
know  best."  And  so,  holding  her  hand,  he  con- 
ducted her  to  the  King  who  stood  waiting  to  re- 
ceive her.  For  all  she  had  done  that  day  to 
please  and  to  deceive  him  had  now  been  undone 
and  everything  that  had  been  possible  had  been 
done  to  enhance  her  loveliness.  She  had  arrayed 
herself  in  a  violet-coloured  silk  gown  with  a 
network  of  gold  thread  over  the  body  and  wide 
sleeves  to  the  elbows  and  rope  of  gold  round  her 
waist  with  its  long  ends  falling  to  her  knee.  The 
great  mass  of  her  coiled  hair  was  surmounted 
with  a  golden  comb  and  golden  pendants 
dropped  from  her  ears  to  her  shoulders.  Also 
she  wore  gold  armlets  coiled  serpent-wise  round 


DEAD  MAN'S   PLACK  49 

her  white  arms  from  elbow  to  wrist.  Not  a  gem 
— nothing  but  pale  yellow  gold, 

Edgar  himself  was  amazed  at  her  loveliness, 
for  never  had  he  seen  anything  comparable  to 
it;  and  when  he  gazed  into  her  eyes  she  did  not 
lower  hers,  but  returned  gaze  for  gaze,  and  there 
was  that  in  her  eyes  and  their  strange  eloquence, 
which  kindled  a  sudden  flame  of  passion  in  his 
heart  and  for  a  moment  it  appeared  in  his  coun- 
tenance. Then,  quickly  recovering  himself,  he 
greeted  her  graciously,  but  with  his  usual 
kingly  dignity  of  manner,  and  for  the  rest  of  the 
time  he  conversed  with  her  and  Athelwold  in 
such  a  pleasant  and  friendly  way  that  his  host 
began  to  recover  somewhat  from  his  apprehen- 
sion. But  in  his  heart  Edgar  was  saying:  And 
this  is  the  woman  that  Athelwold,  the  close 
friend  of  all  my  days  from  boyhood  until  now, 
the  one  man  in  the  world  I  loved  and  trusted,  has 
robbed  me  of! 

And  Athelwold  at  the  same  time  was  revolv- 
ing in  his  mind  the  mystery  of  Elfrida's  action. 
What  did  she  mean  when  she  whispered  to  him 
that  she  knew  best?  And  why,  when  she  wished 
to  appear  in  that  magnificent  way  before  the 


50  DEAD  MAN'S   PLACK 

king,  had  she  worn  nothing  but  gold  ornaments 
• — not  one  of  the  splendid  gems  of  which  she  pos- 
sessed such  a  store? 

She  had  remembered  something  which  he  had 
forgotten. 

Now  when  the  two  friends  were  left  alone  to- 
gether, drinking  wine,  Athelwold  was  still 
troubled  in  his  mind,  although  his  suspicion 
and  fear  were  not  so  acute  as  at  first  and  the 
longer  they  sat  talking,  until  the  small  hours,  the 
more  relieved  did  he  feel  from  Edgar's  manner 
towards  him.  Edgar  in  his  cups  opened  his 
heart  and  was  more  loving  and  free  in  his  speech 
than  ever  before.  He  loved  Athelwold  as  he 
loved  no  one  else  in  the  world  and  to  see  him 
great  and  happy  was  his  first  desire  and  he  con- 
gratulated him  from  his  heart  on  having  found  a 
wife  who  was  worthy  of  him  and  would  even- 
tually bring  him,  through  her  father,  such  great 
possessions  as  would  make  him  the  chief  noble- 
man in  the  land.  All  happiness  and  glory  to 
them  both !  and  when  a  child  was  born  to  them 
he  would  be  its  godfather,  and  if  happily  by  that 
time  there  was  a  queen  she  should  be  its  god- 
mother. 


DEAD  MAN'S   PLACK  51 

Then  he  recalled  their  happy  boyhood's  days 
in  East  Anglia,  that  joyful  time  when  they  first 
hunted  and  had  many  a  mishap  and  fell  from 
their  horses  when  they  pursued  hare  and  deer 
and  bustard  in  the  wide  open  stretches  of  sandy 
country;  and  in  the  autumn  and  winter  months 
when  they  were  wild-fowling  in  the  great  level 
flooded  lands,  where  the  geese  and  all  wild  fowl 
came  in  clouds  and  myriads.  And  now  he 
laughed  and  now  his  eyes  grew  moist  at  the 
recollection  of  the  irrecoverable  glad  days. 

Little  time  was  left  for  sleep;  yet  they  were 
ready  early  next  morning  for  the  day's  great  boar 
hunt  in  the  forest,  and  only  when  the  King  was 
about  to  mount  his  horse  did  Elfrida  make  her 
appearance.  She  came  out  to  him  from  the  door, 
not  richly  dressed  now,  but  in  a  simple  white 
linen  robe  and  not  an  ornament  on  her  except 
that  splendid  crown  of  the  red-gold  hair  on  her 
head.  And  her  face,  too,  was  almost  colourless 
now,  and  grave  and  still.  She  brought  wine  in  a 
golden  cup  and  gave  it  to  the  King,  and  he  once 
more  fixed  his  eyes  on  her  and  for  some  moments 
they  continued  silently  gazing;  each  in  that  fixed 
gaze  seeming  to  devour  the  secrets  of  the  other's 


52  DEAD  MAN'S   PLACK 

soul.  Then  she  wished  him  a  happy  hunting, 
and  he  said  in  reply  he  hoped  it  would  be  the 
happiest  hunting  he  had  ever  had.  Then  after 
drinking  the  wine  he  mounted  his  horse  and  rode 
away.  And  she  remained  standing  very  still,  the 
cup  in  her  hand,  gazing  after  him  as  he  rode  side 
by  side  with  Athelwold,  until  in  the  distance  the 
trees  hid  him  from  her  sight. 

Now  when  they  had  ridden  a  distance  of  three 
miles  or  more  into  the  heart  of  the  forest  they 
came  to  a  broad  drive-like  stretch  of  green  turf 
and  the  king  cried:  This  is  just  what  I  have 
been  wishing  for!  Come,  let  us  give  our  horses  a 
good  gallop.  And  when  they  loosened  the 
reins,  the  horses,  glad  to  have  a  race  on  such  a 
ground,  instantly  sprang  forward;  but  Edgar, 
keeping  a  tight  rein,  was  presently  left  twenty  or 
thirty  yards  behind;  then,  setting  spurs  to  his 
horse,  he  dashed  forward,  and  on  coming  abreast 
of  his  companion  drew  his  knife  and  struck  him 
in  the  back,  dealing  the  blow  with  such  a  con- 
centrated fury  that  the  knife  was  buried  almost 
to  the  hilt.  Then,  violently  wrenching  it  out,  he 
would  have  struck  again,  had  not  the  earl  with 
a  scream  of  agony  tumbled  from  his  seat.    The 


DEAD  MAN'S  PLACK  53 

horse,  freed  from  its  rider,  rushed  on  in  a  sudden 
panic  and  the  king's  horse  side  by  side  with  it. 
Edgar,  throwing  himself  back  and  exerting  his 
whole  strength,  succeeded  in  bringing  his  horse 
to  a  stop  at  a  distance  of  fifty  or  sixty  yards,  then 
turning,  came  riding  back  at  a  furious  speed. 

Now  when  Athelwold  fell  all  those  who  were 
riding  behind,  the  earl's  and  the  king's  men  to 
the  number  of  thirty  or  forty,  dashed  forward 
and  some  of  them  hurriedly  dismounting, 
gathered  about  him  as  he  lay  groaning  and 
writhing  and  pouring  out  his  blood  on  the 
ground.  But  at  the  king's  approach  they  drew 
quickly  back  to  make  way  for  him  and  he  came 
straight  on  and  caused  his  horse  to  trample  on 
the  fallen  man.  Then  pointing  to  him  with 
the  knife  he  still  had  in  his  hand,  he  cried: 
That  is  how  I  serve  a  false  friend  and  traitor! 
Then  wiping  the  stained  knife  blade  on  his 
horse's  neck  and  sheathing  it  he  shouted,  Back 
to  Salisbury!  and  setting  spurs  to  his  horse  gal- 
loped ofif  towards  the  Andover  road. 

His  men  immediately  mounted  and  followed, 
leaving  the  earl's  men  with  their  master.  Lift- 
ing him  up  they  placed  him  on  a  horse  and  with 


54  DEAD  MAN'S  PLACK 

a  mounted  man  on  each  side  to  hold  him  up  they 
moved  back  at  a  walking  pace  towards  Wher- 
well. 

Messengers  were  sent  ahead  to  inform  Elf  rida 
of  what  had  happened,  and  then,  an  hour  later, 
yet  another  messenger  to  tell  that  Athelwold  when 
half  way  home  had  breathed  his  last.  Then  at 
last  the  corpse  was  brought  to  the  castle  and  she 
met  it  with  tears  and  lamentations.  But  after- 
wards, in  her  own  chamber,  when  she  had  dis- 
missed all  her  attendants,  as  she  desired  to  weep 
alone,  her  grief  changed  to  joy.  O  glorious 
Edgar,  she  said,  the  time  will  come  when  you 
will  know  what  I  feel  now,  when  at  your  feet, 
embracing  your  knees,  and  kissing  the  blessed 
hand  that  with  one  blow  has  given  me  life  and 
liberty.  One  blow  and  your  revenge  was  satis- 
fied and  you  had  won  me;  I  know  it — I  saw  it 
all  in  that  flame  of  love  and  fury  in  your  eyes  at 
our  first  meeting,  which  you  permitted  me  to 
see,  which  if  he  had  seen  he  would  have  known 
that  he  was  doomed.  O  perfect  master  of  dis- 
simulation, all  the  more  do  I  love  and  worship 
you  for  dealing  with  him  as  he  dealt  with  you 
and  with  me ;  caressing  him  with  flattering  words 


DEAD  MAN'S   PLACK  55 

until  the  moment  came  to  strike  and  slay.    And 
I  love  you  all  the  more  for  making  your  horse 
trample  on  him  as  he  lay  bleeding  his  life  out 
on  the  ground.    And  now  you  have  opened  the 
way  with  your  knife  you  shall  come  back  or 
call  me  to  you  when  it  pleases  you,  and  for 
the  rest  of  your  life  it  will  be  a  satisfaction  to 
you  to  know  that  you  have  taken  a  modest  woman 
as  well  as  the  fairest  in  the  land  for  wife  and 
queen,  and  your  pride  in  me  will  be  my  happi- 
ness and   glory.     For  men's   love   is   little   to 
me  since  Athelwold  taught  me  to  think  meanly 
of  all  men,  except  you  that  slew  him.    And  you 
'shall  be  free  to  follow  your  own  mind,  and  be 
ever  strenuous  and  vigilant  and  run  after  kingly 
pleasures,  pursuing  deer  and  wolf  and  beautiful 
women  all  over  the  land.    And  I  shall  listen  to 
the  tales  of  your  adventures  and  conquests  with 
a  smile  like  that  of  a  mother  who  sees  her  child 
playing  seriously  with  its  dolls  and  toys,  talking 
to  and  caressing  them.    And  in  return  you  shall 
give  me  my  desire,  which  is  power  and  splen- 
dour; for  these  I  crave,  to  be  first  and  greatest, 
to  raise  up  and  cast  down,  and  in  all  our  life 
I  shall  be  your  help  and  stay  in  ruling  this  realn^. 


S6  DEAD  MAN'S  PLACK 

so  that  our  names  may  be  linked  together  and 
shine  in  the  annals  of  England  for  all  time. 

When  Edgar  slew  Athelwold  his  age  was 
twenty-two,  and  before  he  was  a  year  older  he 
had  married  Elfrida,  to  the  rage  of  that  great 
man,  the  primate  and  more  than  premier,  who, 
under  Edgar,  virtually  ruled  England.  And  in 
his  rage,  and  remembering  how  he  had  dealt 
with  a  previous  boy  king,  whose  beautiful  young 
wife  he  had  hounded  to  her  dreadful  end,  he 
charged  Elfrida  with  having  instigated  her  hus- 
band's murder  and  commanded  the  king  to  put 
that  woman  away.  This  roused  the  man  and  pas- 
sionate lover,  and  the  tiger  in  the  man,  in  Edgar, 
and  the  wise  and  subtle-minded  ecclesiastic 
quickly  recognised  that  he  had  set  himself 
against  one  of  a  will  more  powerful  and  danger- 
ous than  his  own.  He  remembered  that  it  was 
Edgar,  who,  when  he  had  been  deprived  of  his 
abbey  and  driven  in  disgrace  from  the  land,  had 
recalled  and  made  him  so  great  and  he  knew  that 
the  result  of  a  quarrel  between  them  would  be  a 
mighty  upheaval  in  the  land  and  the  sweeping 


DEAD  MAN'S  PLACK  57 

away  of  all  his  great  reforms.  And  so,  cursing 
the  woman  in  his  heart  and  secretly  vowing  ven- 
geance on  her,  he  was  compelled  in  the  interests 
of  the  church  to  acquiesce  in  this  fresh  crime  of 
the  king. 


VII 

Eight  years  had  passed  since  the  king's  mar- 
riage with  Elfrida  and  the  one  child  born  to 
them  was  now  seven,  the  darling  of  his  parents, 
Ethelred  the  angelic  child,  who  to  the  end  of 
his  long  life  would  be  praised  for  one  thing  only 
— his  personal  beauty.  But  Edward,  his  half- 
brother,  now  in  his  thirteenth  year,  was  regarded 
by  her  with  an  almost  equal  affection,  on  ac- 
count of  his  beauty  and  charm,  his  devotion  to 
his  step-mother,  the  only  mother  he  had  known, 
and,  above  all,  for  his  love  of  his  little  half- 
brother.  He  was  never  happy  unless  he  was 
with  him,  acting  the  part  of  guide  and  instructor 
as  well  as  playfellow. 

Edgar  had  recently  completed  one  of  his 
great  works,  the  building  of  Corfe  Castle,  and 
now  whenever  he  was  in  Wessex  preferred  it 
as  a  residence,  since  he  loved  best  that  part  of 
England  with  its  wide  moors  and  hunting  for- 
ests, and  its  neighbourhood  to  the  sea  and  to 

58 


DEAD  MAN'S  PLACK  59 

Portland  and  Poole  water.  Pie  had  been  absent 
for  many  weeks  on  a  journey  to  Northumbria, 
and  the  last  tidings  of  his  movements  were 
that  he  was  on  his  way  to  the  south  travelling 
on  the  Welsh  border  and  intended  visiting  the 
Abbot  of  Glastonbury  before  returning  to  Dor- 
set. This  religious  house  was  already  very  great 
in  his  day;  he  had  conferred  many  benefits  on  it 
and  contemplated  still  others. 

It  was  summer  time,  a  season  of  great  heats, 
and  Elfrida  with  the  two  little  princes  often 
went  to  the  coast  to  spend  a  whole  day  in  the 
open  air  by  the  sea.  Her  favourite  spot  was  at 
the  foot  of  a  vast  chalk  down  with  a  slight  strip 
of  woodland  between  its  lowest  slope  and  the 
beach.  She  was  at  this  spot  one  day  about  noon 
where  the  trees  were  few  and  large,  growing 
wide  apart,  and  had  settled  herself  on  a  pile  of 
cushions  placed  at  the  roots  of  a  big  old  oak 
tree,  where  from  her  seat  she  could  look  out 
over  the  blue  expanse  of  water.  But  the  hamlet 
and  church  close  by  on  her  left  hand  were 
hidden  by  the  wood,  though  sounds  issuing  from 
it  could  be  heard  occasionally — shouts  and 
bursts  of  laughter  and  at  times  the  music  of  a 


6o  DEAD  MAN'S  PLACK 

stringed  instrument  and  a  voice  singing.  These 
sounds  came  from  her  armed  guard  and  other 
attendants  who  were  speeding  the  idle  hours  of 
waiting  in  their  own  way,  in  eating  and  drinking 
and  in  games  and  dancing.  Only  two  women  re- 
mained to  attend  to  her  wants,  and  one  armed 
man  to  keep  watch  and  guard  over  the  two  boys 
at  their  play. 

They  were  not  now  far  ofif,  not  over  fifty 
yards,  among  the  big  trees;  but  for  hours  past 
they  had  been  away  out  of  her  sight,  racing  on 
their  ponies  over  the  great  down;  then  bathing 
in  the  sea,  Edward  teaching  his  little  brother 
to  swim;  then  he  had  given  him  lessons  in  tree- 
climbing,  and  now  tired  of  all  these  exertions 
and  for  variety's  sake  they  were  amusing  them- 
selves by  standing  on  their  heads.  Little  Ethel- 
red  had  tried  and  failed  repeatedly,  then  at  last, 
with  hands  and  head  firmly  planted  on  the 
sward,  he  had  succeeded  in  throwing  his  legs  up 
and  keeping  them  in  a  vertical  position  for  a 
few  seconds,  this  feat  being  loudly  applauded 
by  his  young  instructor. 

Elfrida,  who  had  witnessed  this  display  from 
her  seat,  burst  out  laughing,  then  said  to  herself: 


DEAD  MAN'S   PLACK  6i 

O  how  I  love  these  two  beautiful  boys  almost 
with  an  equal  love  albeit  one  is  not  mine!  But 
Edward  must  be  ever  dear  to  me  because  of  his 
sweetness  and  his  love  of  me  and,  even  more,  his 
love  and  tender  care  of  my  darling.  Yet  am  I 
not  wholly  free  from  an  anxious  thought  of  the 
distant  future.  Ah,  no,  let  me  not  think  of  such 
a  thing!  This  sweet  child  of  a  boy  father  and 
girl  mother — the  frail  mother  that  died  in  her 
teens — he  can  never  grow  to  be  a  proud,  master- 
ful, ambitious  man — never  aspire  to  wear  his 
father's  crown.  Edgar's  first  born,  it  is  true, 
but  not  mine,  and  he  can  never  be  king.  For 
Edgar  and  I  are  one;  is  it  conceivable  that  he 
should  oppose  me  in  this — that  we  that  are  one 
in  mind  and  soul  shall  at  the  last  be  divided  and 
at  enmity?  Have  we  not  said  it  an  hundred 
times  that  we  are  one?  One  in  all  things  except 
in  passion.  Yet  this  very  coldness  in  me  in 
which  I  differ  from  others  is  my  chief  strength 
and  glory  and  has  made  our  two  lives  one  life. 
And  when  he  is  tired  and  satiated  with  the  com- 
mon beauty  and  the  common  passions  of  other 
women  he  returns  to  me  only  to  have  his  first 
love  kindled  afresh  as  when  in  love  and  pity  I 


62  DEAD  MAN'S  PLACK 

give  myself  to  him  and  am  his  bride  afresh  as 
when  first  he  had  my  body  in  his  arms,  it  is  to 
him  as  if  one  of  the  immortals  had  stooped  to 
a  mortal,  and  he  tells  me  I  am  the  flower  of 
womankind  and  of  the  world,  that  my  white 
body  is  a  perfect  white  flower,  my  hair  a  shining 
gold  flower,  my  mouth  a  fragrant  scarlet  flower 
and  my  eyes  a  sacred  blue  flower,  surpassing  all 
others  in  loveliness.  And  when  I  have  satisfied 
him  and  the  tempest  in  his  blood  has  abated, 
then  for  the  rapture  he  has  had  I  have  mine, 
when  ashamed  at  his  violence,  as  if  it  had  been 
an  insult  to  me,  he  covers  his  face  with  my  hair 
and  sheds  tears  of  love  and  contrition  on  my 
breasts.  O  nothing  can  ever  disunite  us!  Even 
from  the  first,  before  I  ever  saw  him,  when  he 
was  coming  to  me  I  knew  that  we  were  destined 
to  be  one.  And  he  too  knew  it  from  the  moment 
of  seeing  me  and  knew  that  I  knew  it;  and  when 
he  sat  at  meat  with  us  and  looked  smilingly  at 
the  friend  of  his  bosom  and  spoke  merrily  to 
him,  and  resolved  at  the  same  time  to  take  his 
life,  he  knew  that  by  so  doing  he  would  fulfil 
my  desire;  and  as  my  knowledge  of  the  betrayal 
was  first  so  the  desire  to  shed  that  abhorred  blood 


DEAD  MAN'S  PLACK  63 

was  in  me  first.  Nevertheless  I  cannot  be  free 
of  all  anxious  thoughts  and  fear  too  of  my  im- 
placable enemy  and  traducer  who  from  a  dis- 
tance watches  all  my  movements,  who  reads 
Edgar's  mind  even  as  he  would  a  book,  and  what 
he  finds  there  writ  by  me  he  seeks  to  blot  out; 
and  thus  does  he  ever  thwart  me.  But  though 
I  cannot  measure  my  strength  against  his  it  will 
not  always  be  so,  seeing  that  he  is  old  and  I  am 
young,  with  Time  and  Death  on  my  side,  who 
will  like  good  and  faithful  servants  bring  him 
to  the  dust,  so  that  my  triumph  must  come. 
And  when  he  is  no  more  I  shall  have  time  to 
unbuild  the  structure  he  has  raised  with  lies  for 
stones  and  my  name  coupled  with  some  evil  deed 
cut  in  every  stone.  For  I  look  ever  to  the  future, 
even  to  the  end  to  see  this  Edgar  with  the  light 
of  life  shining  so  brightly  in  him  now,  a  vener- 
able king  with  silver  hair,  his  passions  cool,  his 
strength  failing,  leaning  more  heavily  on  me; 
until  at  last,  persuaded  by  me,  he  will  step  down 
from  the  throne  and  resign  his  crown  to  our  son 
— our  Ethelred.  And  in  him  and  his  son  after 
him,  and  in  his  son's  sons  we  shall  live  still  in 
their  blood  and  with  them  rule  this  kingdom  of 


64  DEAD  MAN'S  PLACK 

Edgar  the  Peaceful — a  realm  of  everlasting 
peace. 

Thus  she  mused  until  overcome  by  her  swift 
crowding  thoughts  and  passions,  love  and  hate, 
with  memories  dreadful  or  beautiful,  of  her  past 
and  strivings  of  her  mind  to  pierce  the  future, 
she  burst  into  a  violent  storm  of  tears  so  that 
her  frame  was  shaken,  and  covering  her  eyes 
with  her  hands  she  strove  to  get  the  better  of 
her  agitation  lest  her  weakness  should  be  wit- 
nessed by  her  attendants.  But  when  this  tem? 
pest  had  left  her  and  she  lifted  her  eyes  again, 
it  seemed  to  her  that  the  burning  tears  which 
had  relieved  her  heart  had  also  washed  away 
some  trouble  that  had  been  like  a  dimness  on  all 
visible  nature,  and  earth  and  sea  and  sky  were 
glorified  as  if  the  sunlight  flooding  the  world 
fell  direct  from  the  heavenly  throne,  and  she 
sat  drinking  in  pure  delight  from  the  sight  of 
it  and  the  soft  warm  air  she  breathed. 

Then  to  complete  her  happiness  the  silence 
that  reigned  around  her  was  broken  by  a  sweet 
musical  sound  of  a  little  bird  that  sang  from  the 
tree-top  high  above  her  head.  This  was  the  red- 
start, and  the  tree  under  which  she  sat  was  its 


DEAD  MAN'S   PLACK  65 

singing-tree  to  which  it  resorted  many  times  a 
day  to  spend  half  an  hour  or  so  repeating  its 
brief  song  at  intervals  of  a  few  seconds — a  small 
song  that  was  like  the  song  of  the  redbreast, 
subdued,  refined  and  spiritualised  as  of  a  spirit 
that  lived  within  the  tree. 

Listening  to  it  in  that  happy  tender  mood 
which  had  followed  her  tears,  she  gazed  up  and 
tried  to  catch  sight  of  it  but  could  see  nothing 
but  the  deep-cut,  green  translucent  clustering 
oak  leaves  showing  the  blue  of  heaven  and  shin- 
ing like  emeralds  in  the  sunlight.  O  sweet, 
blessed  little  bird,  she  said,  are  you  indeed  a 
bird?  I  think  you  are  a  messenger  sent  to  as- 
sure me  that  all  my  hopes  and  dreams  of  the  dis- 
tant days  to  come  will  be  fulfilled.  Sing  again 
and  again  and  again;  I  could  listen  for  hours  to 
that  selfsame  song. 

But  she  heard  it  no  more;  the  bird  had  flown 
away.  Then,  still  listening,  she  caught  a  differ- 
ent sound — the  loud  hoofbeats  of  horses  being 
ridden  at  a  furious  speed  towards  the  hamlet. 
Listening  intently  to  that  sound,  she  heard,  on 
its  arrival  at  the  hamlet,  a  sudden  great  cry  as 
if  all  the  men  gathered  there  had  united  their 


^  DEAD  MAN'S  PLACK 

voices  in  ©ne  cry;  and  she  stood  up  and  her 
women  came  to  her  and  all  together  stood  silently 
gazmg  in  that  direction.  Then  the  t\vo  boys  who 
had  been  lying  on  the  turf  not  far  off  came  run- 
ning to  them  and  caught  her  by  the  hands,  one 
on  each  side,  and  Edward  looking  up  at  her 
white  still  face  cried,  Mother,  what  is  it  you 
fear?  But  she  answered  no  word.  Then  again 
the  sound  of  hoofs  was  heard,  and  they  knew 
the  riders  were  now  coming  at  a  swift  gallop  to 
them.  And  in  a  few  moments  they  appeared 
among  the  trees,  and  reining  up  their  horses  at 
a  distance  of  some  yards,  one  sprang  to  the 
ground  and  advancing  to  the  queen  made  his 
obeisance,  then  told  her  he  had  been  sent  to 
inform  her  of  Edgar's  death.  He  had  been 
seized  by  a  sudden  violent  fever  in  Gloucester- 
shire on  his  way  to  Glastonbury,  and  had  died 
after  two  days'  illness.  He  had  been  uncon- 
scious all  the  time,  but  more  than  once  he  had 
cried  out  On  to  Glastonbury  I  and  now  in  obedi- 
ence to  that  command  his  body  was  being  con- 
veyed for  interment  at  the  abbey. 


VIII 

She  had  no  tears  to  shed,  no  word  to  say,  nor 
was  there  any  sense  of  grief  at  her  loss.  She 
had  loved  him — once  upon  a  time;  she  had 
always  admired  him  for  his  better  qualities; 
even  his  excessive  pride  and  ostentation  had 
been  pleasing  to  her;  finally  she  had  been  more 
than  tolerant  of  his  vices  or  weaknesses,  regard- 
ing them  as  matters  beneath  her  attention. 
Nevertheless,  in  their  eight  years  of  married  life 
they  had  become  increasingly  repugnant  to  her 
stronger  and  colder  nature.  He  had  degener- 
ated, bodily  and  mentally,  and  was  not  now  like 
that  shining  one  who  had  come  to  her  at  Wher- 
well  Castle,  who  had  not  hesitated  to  strike  the 
blow  that  had  set  her  free.  The  tidings  of  his 
death  had  all  at  once  sprung  the  truth  on  her 
mind  that  the  old  love  was  dead,  that  it  had 
indeed  been  long  dead  and  that  she  had  actually 
come  to  despise  him. 

But  what  should  she  do — ^what  be — ^without 
67 


68  DEAD  MAN'S  PLACK 

him!    She  had  been  his  queen,  loved  to  adora- 
tion, and  he  had  been  her  shield;  now  she  was 
alone,  face  to  face  with  her  bitter,  powerful 
enemy.    Now  it  seemed  to  her  that  she  had  been 
living  in  a  beautiful,  peaceful  land,  a  paradise 
of  fruit  and  flowers  and  all  delightful  things; 
that  in  a  moment,  as  by  a  miracle,  it  had  turned 
to  a  waste  of  black  ashes  still  hot  and  smoking 
from  the  desolating  flames  that  had  passed  over 
it.    But  she  was  not  one  to  give  herself  over  to 
despondency  so  long  as  there  was  anything  to  be 
done.    Very  quickly  she  roused  herself  to  action 
and  despatched  messengers  to  all  those  powerful 
friends  who  shared  her  hatred  of  the  great  arch- 
bishop and  would  be  glad  of  the  opportunity 
now  offered  of  wresting  the  rule  from  his  hands. 
Until  now  he  had  triumphed  because  he  had  had 
the  king  to  support  him  even  in  his  most  arbi- 
trary and  tyrannical  measures;  now  was  the  time 
to  show  a  bold  front,  to  proclaim  her  son  as  the 
right  successor,   and  with  herself,  assisted  by 
chosen  councillors,  to  direct  her  boy,  the  power 
would  be  in  her  hands,  and  once  more,  as  in 
King  Edwin's  day,  the  great  Dunstan,  disgraced 
and  denounced,  would  be  compelled  to  fly  from 


DEAD  MAN'S  PLACK  69 

the  country  lest  a  more  dreadful  punishment 
should  befall  him.  Finally,  leaving  the  two 
little  princes  at  Corfe  Castle,  she  travelled  to 
Mercia  to  be  with  and  animate  her  powerful 
friends  and  fellow-plotters  with  her  presence. 

All  their  plottings  and  movements  were 
known  to  Dunstan,  and  he  was  too  quick  for 
them.  Whilst  they,  divided  among  themselves, 
were  debating  and  arranging  their  plans  he  had 
called  together  all  the  leading  bishops  and  coun- 
cillors of  the  late  king  and  they  had  agreed  that 
Edward  must  be  proclaimed  as  the  first  born; 
and  although  but  a  boy  of  thirteen  the  danger 
to  the  country  would  not  be  so  great  as  it  would 
to  give  the  succession  to  a  child  of  seven  years. 
Accordingly  Edward  was  proclaimed  king  and 
removed  from  Corfe  Castle  while  the  queen  was 
still  absent  in  Mercia. 

For  a  while  it  looked  as  if  this  bold  and 
prompt  act  on  the  part  of  Dunstan  would  have 
led  to  civil  war;  but  a  great  majority  of  the 
nobles  gave  their  adhesion  to  Edward,  and  El- 
frida's  friends  soon  concluded  that  they  were 
not  strong  enough  to  set  her  boy  up  and  try 
to  overthrow  Edward,   or  to   divide   England 


70  DEAD  MAN'S  PLACK 

again  between  two  boy  kings  as  in  Edwin  and 
Edgar's  early  years. 

She  accordingly  returned  discomfited  to  Corfe 
and  to  her  child,  now  always  crying  for  his  be- 
loved brother  who  had  been  taken  from  him; 
and  there  was  not  in  all  England  a  more  miser- 
able woman  than  Elfrida  the  queen.  For  after 
this  defeat  she  could  hope  no  more;  her  power 
was  gone  past  recovery — all  that  had  made  her 
life  beautiful  and  glorious  was  gone.  Now 
Corfe  was  like  that  other  castle  at  Wherwell 
where  Earl  Athelwold  had  kept  her  like  a  caged 
bird  for  his  pleasure  when  he  visited  her;  only 
worse,  since  she  was  eight  years  younger  then, 
her  beauty  fresher,  her  heart  burning  with  secret 
hopes  and  ambitions,  and  the  great  world  where 
there  were  towns  and  a  king  and  many  noble 
men  and  women  gathered  round  him  yet  to  be 
known.  And  all  these  things  had  come  to  her 
and  were  now  lost — now  nothing  was  left  but 
bitterest  regrets  and  hatred  of  all  those  who  had 
failed  her  at  the  last.  Hatred  first  of  all  and 
above  all  of  her  great  triumphant  enemy,  and 
hatred  of  the  boy  king  she  had  loved  with  a 
mother's  love  until  now  and  cherished  for  many 


DEAD  MAN'S  PLACK  71 

years.  Hatred  too  of  herself  when  she  recalled 
the  part  she  had  recently  played  in  Mercia, 
where  she  had  not  disdained  to  practise  all  her 
fascinating  arts  on  many  persons  she  despised 
in  order  to  bind  them  to  her  cause  and  had  there- 
by given  cause  to  her  monkish  enemy  to  charge 
her  with  immodesty.  It  was  with  something  like 
hatred  too  that  she  regarded  her  own  child  when 
he  would  come  crying  to  her,  begging  her  to  take 
him  to  his  beloved  brother;  carried  away  with 
sudden  rage  she  would  strike  and  thrust  him 
violently  from  her,  then  order  her  women  to 
take  him  away  and  keep  him  out  of  her  sight. 

Three  years  had  gone  by  during  which  she 
had  continued  living  alone  at  Corfe,  still  under 
a  cloud  and  nursing  her  bitter,  revengeful  feel- 
ing in  her  heart,  until  that  fatal  afternoon  on 
the  eighteenth  day  of  March,  978. 

The  young  king,  now  in  his  seventeenth  year, 
had  come  to  these  favourite  hunting-grounds  of 
his  late  father  and  was  out  hunting  on  that  day. 
He  had  lost  sight  of  his  companions  in  a  wood 
or  thicket  of  thorn  and  furze,  and  galloping  in 
search  of  them  he  came  out  from  the  wood  on 


72  DEAD  MAN'S  PLACK 

the  further  side,  and  there  before  him,  not  a  mile 
away,  was  Corfe  Castle,  his  old  beloved  home 
and  the  home  still  of  the  two  beings  he  loved 
best  in  the  world — his  stepmother  and  his  little 
half-brother.  And  although  he  had  been  sternly 
warned  that  they  were  his  secret  enemies,  that 
it  would  be  dangerous  to  hold  any  intercourse 
with  them,  the  sight  of  the  castle  and  his  craving 
to  look  again  on  their  dear  faces  overcame  his 
scruples.  There  would  be  no  harm,  no  danger 
to  him  and  no  great  disobedience  on  his  part  to 
ride  to  the  gates  and  see  and  greet  them  without 
dismounting. 

When  Elfrida  was  told  that  Edward  himself 
was  at  the  gates  calling  to  her  and  Ethelred  to 
come  out  to  him  she  became  violently  excited 
and  cried  out  that  God  himself  was  on  her  side 
and  had  delivered  the  boy  into  her  hands.  She 
ordered  her  servants  to  go  out  and  persuade  him 
to  come  in  to  her,  to  take  away  his  horse  as  soon 
as  he  had  dismounted  and  not  to  allow  him  to 
leave  the  castle.  Then,  when  they  returned  to 
say  the  king  refused  to  dismount  and  again 
begged  them  to  go  to  him,  she  went  to  the  gates 
but  without  the  boy,  and  greeted  him  joyfully, 


DEAD  MAN'S  PLACK  73 

while  he,  glad  at  the  meeting,  bent  down  and 
embraced  her  and  kissed  her  face.  But  when 
she  refused  to  send  for  Ethelred  and  urged  him 
persistently  to  dismount  and  come  in  to  see  his 
little  brother  who  was  crying  for  him,  he  began 
to  notice  the  extreme  excitement  which  burned 
in  her  eyes  and  made  her  voice  tremble,  and 
beginning  to  fear  some  design  against  him  he 
refused  again  more  firmly  to  obey  her  wish ;  then 
she  to  gain  time  sent  for  wine  for  him  to  drink 
before  parting  from  her.  And  during  all  this 
time  while  his  departure  was  being  delayed  her 
people,  men  and  women,  had  been  coming  out 
until,  sitting  on  his  horse,  he  was  in  the  midst 
of  a  crowd,  and  these  too  all  looked  on  him  with 
excited  faces,  which  increased  his  apprehension, 
so  that  when  he  had  drunk  the  wine  he  all  at 
once  set  spurs  to  his  horse  to  break  away  from 
among  them.  Then  she,  looking  at  her  men, 
cried  out,  Is  this  the  way  you  serve  me!  And 
no  sooner  had  the  words  fallen  from  her  lips 
than  one  man  bounded  forward,  like  a  hound  on 
its  quarry,  and  coming  abreast  of  the  horse  dealt 
the  king  a  blow  with  his  knife  in  the  side.  The 
next  moment  the  horse  and  rider  were  free  of 


74  DEAD  MAN'S  PLACK 

the  crowd  and  rushing  away  over  the  moor.  A 
cry  of  horror  had  burst  from  the  women  gath- 
ered there  when  the  blow  was  struck;  now  all 
were  silent  watching  with  white  scared  faces  as 
he  rode  swiftly  away;  then  presently  they  saw 
him  swerve  on  his  horse,  then  fall,  with  his  right 
foot  still  remaining  caught  in  the  stirrup,  and 
that  the  panic-stricken  horse  was  dragging  him 
at  furious  speed  over  the  rough  moor. 

Only  then  the  queen  spoke  and  in  an  agitated 
voice  told  them  to  mount  and  follow;  and 
charged  them  that  if  they  overtook  the  horse 
and  found  that  the  king  had  been  killed,  to  bury 
the  body  where  it  would  not  be  found,  so  that 
the  manner  of  his  death  should  not  be  known. 

When  the  men  returned  they  reported  that 
they  had  found  the  dead  body  of  the  king  a  mile 
away  where  the  horse  had  got  free  of  it  and  they 
had  buried  it  in  a  thicket  where  it  would  never 
be  discovered. 


IX 


When  Edward  in  sudden  terror  set  spurs  to 
his  horse;  when  at  the  same  moment  a  knife 
flashed  out  and  the  fatal  blow  was  delivered, 
Elfrida  too,  like  the  other  women  witnesses  in 
the  crowd,  had  uttered  a  cry  of  horror.  But 
once  the  deed  was  accomplished  and  the  assur- 
ance received  that  the  jody  had  been  hidden 
where  it  would  never  be  found,  the  feeling  ex- 
perienced at  the  spectacle  was  changed  to  one 
of  exultation.  For  now  at  last,  after  three  mis- 
erable years  of  brooding  on  her  defeat,  she  had 
unexpectedly  triumphed,  and  it  was  as  if  she 
already  had  her  foot  set  on  her  enemies'  necks. 
For  now  her  boy  would  be  king — happily  there 
was  no  other  candidate  in  the  field;  now  her 
great  friends  from  all  over  the  land  would  fly 
to  her  aid  and  with  them  for  her  councillors  she 
would  practically  be  the  ruler  during  the  king's 
long  minority. 

Thus  she  exulted;  then,  when  that  first  tem- 
pest of  passionate,  excitement  had  abated,  came 

75 


76  DEAD  MAN'S  PLACK 

a  revulsion  of  feeling  when  the  vivid  recollec- 
tion of  that  pitiful  scene  returned  and  would  not 
be  thrust  away;  when  she  saw  again  the  change 
from  affection  and  delight  at  beholding  her  to 
suspicion  and  fear,  then  terror,  come  into  the 
face  of  the  boy  she  had  loved;  when  she  wit- 
nessed the  dreadful  blow  and  watched  him  when 
he  swerved  and  fell  from  the  saddle  and  the 
frightened  horse  galloped  wildly  away  dragging 
him  over  the  rough  moor.  For  now  she  knew 
that  in  her  heart  she  had  never  hated  him;  the 
animosity  had  been  only  on  the  surface  and  was 
an  overflow  of  her  consuming  hatred  of  the  pri- 
mate. She  had  always  loved  the  boy  and  now 
that  he  no  longer  stood  in  her  way  to  power  she 
loved  him  again.  And  she  had  slain  him!  O 
no,  she  was  thankful  to  think  she  had  not!  His 
death  had  come  about  by  chance.  Her  com- 
mands to  her  people  had  been  that  he  was  not 
to  be  allowed  to  leave  the  castle;  she  had  re- 
solved to  detain  him,  to  hide  and  hold  him  a  cap- 
tive, to  persuade  or  in  some  way  compel  him 
to  abdicate  in  his  brother's  favour.  She  could 
not  now  say  just  how  she  had  intended  to  deal 
with  him,  but  it  was  never  her  intention  to  mur- 


DEAD  MAN'S  PLACK  77 

der  him.  Her  commands  had  been  misunder- 
stood and  she  could  not  be  blamed  for  his  death, 
however  much  she  was  to  benefit  by  it.  God 
would  not  hold  her  accountable. 

Could  she  then  believe  that  she  was  guiltless 
in  God's  sight?  Alas!  on  second  thoughts  she 
dared  not  affirm  it.  She  was  guiltless  only  in 
the  way  that  she  had  been  guiltless  of  Athel- 
wold's  murder;  had  she  not  rejoiced  at  the  part 
she  had  had  in  that  act?  Athelwold  had  de- 
served his  fate  and  she  had  never  repented  that 
deed,  nor  had  Edgar.  She  had  not  dealt  the 
fatal  blow  then  nor  now,  but  she  had  wished  for 
Edward's  death  even  as  she  had  wished  for 
Athelwold's,  and  it  was  for  her  the  blow  was 
struck.  It  was  a  difficult  and  dreadful  question. 
She  was  not  equal  to  it.  Let  it  be  put  ofif,  the 
pressing  question  now  was,  what  would  man's 
judgment  be — how  would  she  now  stand  before 
the  world? 

And  now  the  hope  came  that  the  secret  of  the 
king's  disappearance  would  never  be  known; 
that  after  a  time  it  would  be  assumed  that  he 
was  dead  and  that  his  death  would  never  be 
traced  to  her  door. 


78  DEAD  MAN'S  PLACK 

A  vain  hope,  as  she  quickly  found!  There 
had  been  too  many  witnesses  of  the  deed,  both  of 
the  castle  people  and  those  who  lived  outside 
the  gates.  The  news  spread  fast  and  far  as  if 
carried  by  winged  messengers,  so  that  it  was  soon 
known  throughout  the  kingdom  and  everywhere 
it  was  told  and  believed  that  the  queen  herself 
had  dealt  the  fatal  blow. 

Not  Elfrida  nor  anyone  living  at  that  time 
could  have  foretold  the  effect  on  the  people 
generally  of  this  deed,  described  as  the  foul- 
est which  had  ever  been  done  in  Saxon 
times.  There  had  in  fact  been  a  thou- 
sand blacker  deeds  in  the  England  of  that 
dreadful  period,  but  never  one  that  touched  the 
heart  and  imagination  of  the  whole  people  in 
the  same  way.  Furthermore,  it  came  after  a 
long  pause,  a  serene  interval  of  many  years  in 
the  everlasting  turmoil — the  years  of  the  reign 
of  Edgar  the  Peaceful,  whose  early  death  had 
up  till  then  been  its  one  great  sorrow.  A  time 
too  of  recovery  from  a  state  of  insensibility  to 
evil  deeds;  of  increasing  civilisation  and  the 
softening  of  hearts.  For  Edward  was  the  child 
of  Edgar  and  his  child-wife  who  was  beautiful 


DEAD  MAN'S  PLACK  79 

and  beloved  and  died  young;  and  he  had  in- 
herited the  beauty,  charm,  and  all  engaging 
qualities  of  his  parents.  It  is  true  that  these 
qualities  were  known  at  first  hand  only  by  those 
who  were  about  him;  but  from  these  the  feeling 
inspired  had  been  communicated  to  those  out- 
side in  ever  widening  circles  until  it  was  spread 
over  all  the  land,  so  that  there  was  no  habitation, 
from  the  castle  to  the  hovel,  in  which  the  name 
of  Edward  was  not  as  music  on  man's  lips.  And 
we  of  the  present  generation  can  perhaps  under- 
stand this  better  than  those  of  any  other  in  the 
past  centuries,  for  having  a  prince  and  heir  to  the 
English  throne  of  this  same  name  so  great  in 
our  annals,  one  as  universally  loved  as  was  Ed- 
ward the  Second,  afterwards  called  the  Martyr, 
in  his  day. 

One  result  of  this  general  outburst  of  feeling 
was  that  all  those  who  had  been,  openly  or  se- 
cretly, in  alliance  with  Elfrida  now  hastened  to 
dissociate  themselves  from  her.  She  was  told 
that  by  her  own  rash  act  in  killing  the  king 
before  the  world  she  had  ruined  her  cause  for 
ever. 

And  Dunstan  was  not  defeated  after  all!    He 


8o  DEAD  MAN'S  PLACK 

made  haste  to  proclaim  the  son,  the  boy  of  ten 
years,  king  of  England  and  at  the  same  time  to 
denounce  the  mother  as  a  murderess.  Nor  did 
she  dare  to  resist  him  when  he  removed  the  little 
prince  from  Corfe  Castle  and  placed  him  with 
some  of  his  own  creatures,  with  monks  for 
schoolmasters  and  guardians,  whose  first  lesson 
to  him  would  be  detestation  of  his  mother.  This 
lesson  too  had  to  be  impressed  on  the  public 
mind;  and  at  once  in  obedience  to  this  command 
every  preaching  monk  in  every  chapel  in  the 
land  raged  against  the  queen,  the  enemy  of  the 
Archbishop  and  of  religion,  the  tigress  in  human 
shape  and  author  of  the  greatest  crime  known 
in  the  land  since  Cerdic's  landing.  No  fortitude 
could  stand  against  such  a  storm  of  execration. 
It  overwhelmed  her.  It  was,  she  believed,  a 
preparation  for  the  dreadful  doom  about  to  fall 
on  her.  This  was  her  great  enemy's  day  and  he 
would  no  longer  be  baulked  of  his  revenge.  She 
remembered  that  Edwin  had  died  by  the  assas- 
sin's hand  and  the  awful  fate  of  his  queen 
Elgitha,  whose  too  beautiful  face  was  branded 
with  hot  irons,  and  who  was  hamstrung  and  left 
to  perish  in  unimaginable  agony.    She  was  like 


DEAD  MAN'S   PLACK  8i 

the  hunted  roe  deer  hiding  in  a  close  thicket 
and  listening,  trembling,  to  the  hunters  shouting 
and  blowing  on  their  horns  and  to  the  baying 
of  their  dogs,  seeking  for  her  in  the  wood. 

Could  she  defend  herself  against  them  in  her 
castle?  She  consulted  her  guard  as  to  this  with 
the  result  that  most  of  the  men  secretly  left  her. 
There  was  nothing  for  her  to  do  but  wait  in 
dreadful  suspense,  and  thereafter  she  would 
spend  many  hours  every  day  in  a  tower  com- 
manding a  wide  view  of  the  surrounding  level 
country  to  watch  the  road  with  anxious  eyes. 
But  the  feared  hunters  came  not;  the  sound  of 
the  cry  for  vengeance  grew  fainter  and  fainter 
until  it  died  into  silence.  It  was  at  length  borne 
in  on  her  that  she  was  not  to  be  punished — at 
all  events,  not  here  and  by  man.  It  came  as  a 
surprise  to  everyone,  herself  included.  But  it 
had  been  remembered  that  she  was  Edgar's 
widow  and  the  king's  mother  and  that  her  power 
and  influence  were  dead.  Never  again  would 
she  lift  her  head  in  England.  Furthermore, 
Dunstan  was  growing  old ;  and  albeit  his  zeal  for 
religion,  pure  and  undefiled  as  he  understood  it, 
was  not  abated,  the  cruel  ruthless  instincts  and 


82  DEAD  MAN'S   PLACK 

temper,  which  had  accompanied  and  made  it 
effective  in  the  great  day  of  conflict  when  he  was 
engaged  in  sweeping  from  England  the  sin  and 
scandal  of  a  married  clergy,  had  by  now  burnt 
themselves  out.  Vengeance  is  mine,  saith  the 
Lord,  I  will  repay,  and  he  was  satisfied  to  have 
no  more  to  do  with  her.  Let  the  abhorred 
woman  answer  to  God  for  her  crimes. 

But  now  that  all  fear  of  punishment  by  man 
was  over,  this  dreadful  thought  that  she  was 
answerable  to  God  weighed  more  and  more 
heavily  on  her.  Nor  could  she  escape  by  day 
or  night  from  the  persistent  image  of  the  mur- 
dered boy.  It  haunted  her  like  a  ghost  in  every 
room  and  when  she  climbed  to  a  tower  to  look 
out  it  was  to  see  his  horse  rushing  madly  away 
dragging  his  bleeding  body  over  the  moor.  Or 
when  she  went  out  to  the  gate  it  was  still  to 
find  him  there,  sitting  on  his  horse,  his  face 
lighting  up  with  love  and  joy  at  beholding  her 
again;  then  the  change,  the  surprise,  the  fear, 
the  wine-cup,  the  attempt  to  break  away,  her 
cry — the  unconsidered  words  she  had  uttered, 
and  the  fatal  blow!  The  cry  that  rose  from  all 
England  calling  on  God  to  destroy  her!  would 


DEAD  MAN'S   PLACK  83' 

that  be  her  torment — would  it  sound  in  her  ears 
through  all  eternity? 

Corfe  became  unendurable  to  her,  and  eventu- 
ally she  moved  to  Bere,  in  Dorset,  where  the 
lands  were  her  property  and  she  possessed  a 
house  of  her  own,  and  there  for  upwards  of  a 
year  she  resided  in  the  strictest  seclusion. 

It  then  came  out  and  was  quickly  noised 
abroad  that  the  king's  body  had  been  discovered 
long  ago — miraculously  it  was  said — in  that 
brake  near  Corfe  where  it  had  been  hidden ;  that 
it  had  been  removed  to  and  secretly  buried  at 
Wareham,  and  it  was  also  said  that  miracles 
were  occurring  at  that  spot.  This  caused  a  fresh 
outburst  of  excitement  in  the  country;  the  cry 
of  miracles  roused  the  religious  houses  all  over 
Wessex  and  there  was  a  clamour  for  possession 
of  the  remains.  This  was  a  question  for  the 
heads  of  the  church  to  decide  and  it  was  even- 
tually decreed  that  the  monastery  of  Shaftes- 
bury, founded  by  King  Alfred,  Edward's 
great-great-grandfather,  should  have  the  body. 
Shaftesbury,  then,  in  order  to  advertise  so  im- 
portant an  acquisition  to  the  world,  resolved  to 
make  the  removal  of  the  remains  the  occasion 


84  DEAD  MAN'S  PLACK 

of  a  great  ceremony,  a  magnificent  procession 
bearing  the  sacred  remains  from  Wareham  to 
the  distant  little  city  on  the  hill,  attended  by 
representatives  from  religious  houses  all  over 
the  country  and  by  the  pious  generally. 

Elfrida,  sitting  alone  in  her  house,  brooding 
on  her  desolation,  heard  of  all  these  happenings 
and  doings  with  increasing  excitement;  then  all 
at  once  resolved  to  take  part  herself  in  the  pro- 
cession. This  was  seemingly  a  strange,  an  al- 
most incredible  departure  for  one  of  her  in- 
domitable character  and  so  embittered  against 
the  primate,  even  as  he  was  against  her.  But  her 
fight  with  him  was  now  ended :  she  was  defeated, 
broken,  deprived  of  everything  that  she  valued 
in  life;  it  was  time  to  think  about  the  life  to 
come.  Furthermore,  it  now  came  to  her  that 
this  was  not  her  own  thought  but  that  it  had  been 
whispered  to  her  soul  by  some  compassionate 
being  of  a  higher  order,  and  it  was  suggested  to 
her  that  here  was  an  opportunity  for  a  first  step 
towards  a  reconciliation  with  God  and  man. 
She  dared  not  disregard  it.  Once  more  she 
would  appear  before  the  world,  not  as  the  beau- 
tiful magnificent  Elfrida,  the  proud  and  power- 


DEAD  MAN'S   PLACK  85 

ful  woman  of  other  days,  but  as  a  humble  peni- 
tent doing  her  bitter  penance  in  public,  one  of  a 
thousand  or  ten  thousand  humble  pilgrims,  clad 
in  mean  garments,  riding  only  when  overcome 
with  fatigue,  and  at  the  last  stage  of  that  long 
twenty-five  miles,  casting  off  her  shoes  to  climb 
the  steep,  stony  road  on  naked,  bleeding  feet. 

This  resolution,  in  which  she  was  strongly  sup- 
ported by  the  local  priesthood,  had  a  mollifying 
effect  on  the  people,  and  something  like  compas- 
sion began  to  mingle  with  their  feelings  of 
hatred  towards  her.  But  when  it  was  reported 
to  Dunstan,  he  fell  into  a  rage  and  imagined  or 
pretended  to  believe  that  some  sinister  design 
was  hidden  under  it.  She  was  the  same  woman, 
he  said,  who  had  instigated  the  murder  of  her 
first  husband  by  means  of  a  trick  of  this  kind. 
She  must  not  be  allowed  to  show  her  face  again. 
He  then  despatched  a  stern  and  threatening  mes- 
sage forbidding  her  to  take  any  part  in  or  show 
herself  at  the  procession. 

This  came  at  the  last  moment  when  all  her 
preparations  had  been  made;  but  she  dared  not 
disobey.  The  effect  was  to  increase  her  misery. 
It  was  as  if  the  gates  of  mercy  and  deliverance 


86  DEAD  MAN'S  PLACK 

which  had  been  opened,  miraculously  as  she  be- 
lieved, had  now  been  once  more  closed  against 
her;  and  it  was  also  as  if  her  enemy  had  said:  I 
have  spared  you  the  branding  with  hot  irons  and 
slashing  of  sinews  with  sharp  knives,  not  out  of 
compassion  but  in  order  to  subject  you  to  a  more 
terrible  punishment. 

Despair  possessed  her,  which  turned  to  sullen 
rage  when  she  found  that  the  feeling  of  the  peo- 
ple around  had  again  become  hostile,  owing  to 
the  report  that  her  non-appearance  at  the  pro- 
cession was  due  to  the  discovery  by  Dunstan  in 
good  time  of  a  secret  plot  against  the  state  on  her 
part.  Her  house  at  Bere  became  unendurable 
to  her:  she  resolved  to  quit  it,  and  made  choice 
of  Salisbury  as  her  next  place  of  residence.  It 
was  not  far  to  go,  and  she  had  a  good  house  there 
which  had  not  been  used  since  Edgar's  death 
but  was  always  kept  ready  for  her  occupation. 


X 


It  was  about  the  middle  of  the  afternoon  when 
Elfrida,  on  horseback  and  attended  by  her 
mounted  guard  of  twenty  or  more  men,  followed 
by  a  convoy  of  carts  with  her  servants  and  lug- 
gage, arrived  at  Salisbury,  and  was  surprised 
and  disturbed  at  the  sight  of  a  vast  concourse  of 
people  standing  without  the  gates. 

It  has  got  abroad  that  she  was  coming  to  Salis- 
bury on  that  day  and  it  was  also  known  through- 
out Wessex  that  she  had  not  been  allowed  to 
attend  the  procession  to  Shaftesbury.  This  had 
excited  the  people  and  a  large  part  of  the  in- 
habitants of  the  town  and  the  adjacent  hamlets 
had  congregated  to  witness  her  arrival. 

On  her  approach  the  crowd  opened  out  on 
either  side  to  make  way  for  her  and  her  men,  and 
glancing  to  this  side  and  that  she  saw  that  every 
pair  of  eyes  in  all  that  vast  silent  crowd  were 
fixed  intently  on  her  face. 

Then  came  a  fresh  surprise  when  she  found  a 
87 


88  DEAD  MAN'S  PLACK 

mounted  guard  standing  with  drawn  swords  be- 
fore the  gates.  The  captain  of  the  guard,  lifting 
his  hand,  cried  out  to  her  to  halt,  then  in  a  loud 
voice  he  informed  her  that  he  had  been  ordered 
to  turn  her  back  from  the  gates.  Was  it  then  to 
witness  this  fresh  insult  that  the  people  had  now 
been  brought  together!  Anger  and  apprehen- 
sion struggled  for  mastery  in  her  breast  and 
choked  her  utterance  when  she  attempted  to 
speak.  She  could  only  turn  to  her  men,  and  in 
instant  response  to  her  look  they  drew  their 
swords  and  pressed  forward  as  if  about  to  force 
their  way  in.  This  movement  on  their  part  was 
greeted  with  a  loud  burst  of  derisive  laughter 
from  the  town  guard.  Then  from  out  of  the 
middle  of  the  crowd  of  lookers-on  came  a  cry  of 
Murderess!  quickly  followed  by  another  shout 
of  Go  back,  murderess,  you  are  not  wanted  here! 
This  was  a  signal  for  all  the  unruly  spirits  in  the 
throng — all  those  whose  delight  is  to  trample 
upon  the  fallen — and  from  all  sides  there  rose  a 
storm  of  jeers  and  execrations,  and  it  was  as  if 
she  was  in  the  midst  of  a  frantic,  bellowing  herd 
eager  to  gore  and  trample  her  to  death.  And 
these  were  the  same  people  that  a  few  short  years 


DEAD  MAN'S  PLACK  89 

ago  would  rush  out  from  their  houses  to  gaze 
with  pride  and  delight  at  her,  their  beautiful 
queen,  and  applaud  her  to  the  echo  whenever  she 
appeared  at  their  gates.  Now,  better  than  ever 
before,  she  realised  the  change  of  feeling  to- 
wards her  from  affectionate  loyalty  to  abhor- 
rence, and  drained  to  the  last  bitterest  dregs  the 
cup  of  shame  and  humiliation. 

With  trembling  hand  she  turned  her  horse 
round  and  bending  her  ashen  white  face  low, 
rode  slowly  out  of  the  crowd,  her  men  close  to 
her  on  either  side,  threatening  with  their  swords 
those  that  pressed  nearest  and  followed  in  their 
retreat  by  shouts  and  jeers.  But  when  well  out 
of  sight  and  sound  of  the  people  she  dismounted 
and  sat  down  on  the  turf  to  rest  and  consider 
what  was  to  be  done.  By  and  by  a  mounted  man 
was  seen  coming  from  Salisbury  at  a  fast  gallop. 
He  came  with  a  letter  and  message  to  the  queen 
from  an  aged  nobleman,  one  she  had  known  in 
former  years  at  court.  He  informed  her  that  he 
owned  a  large  house  at  or  near  Amesbury  which 
he  could  not  now  use  on  account  of  his  age  and 
infirmities,  which  compelled  him  to  remain  in 
Salisbury.    This  house  she  might  occupy  for  as 


90  DEAD  MAN'S  PLACK 

long  as  she  wished  to  remain  in  the  neighbour- 
hood. He  had  received  permission  from  the 
governor  of  the  town  to  offer  it  to  her,  and  the 
only  condition  was  that  she  must  not  return  to 
Salisbury. 

There  then  was  one  friend  left  to  the  reviled 
and  outcast  queen — this  aged,  dying  man! 

Once  more  she  set  forth  with  the  messenger  as 
guide  and  about  set  of  sun  arrived  at  the  house, 
which  was  to  be  her  home  for  the  next  two  to 
three  years,  in  this  darkest  period  of  her  life. 
Yet  she  could  not  have  found  a  habitation  and 
surroundings  more  perfectly  suited  to  her  wants 
and  the  mood  she  was  in.  The  house,  which  was 
large  enough  to  accommodate  all  her  people,  was 
on  the  west  side  of  the  Avon,  a  quarter  of  a  mile 
below  Amesbury  and  two  to  three  hundred  yards 
distant  from  the  river  bank,  and  was  surrounded 
by  enclosed  land  with  gardens  and  orchards,  the 
river  itself  forming  the  boundary  on  one  side. 
Here  was  the  perfect  seclusion  she  desired;  here 
she  could  spend  her  hours  and  days  as  she  ever 
loved  to  do  in  the  open  air  without  sight  of  any 
human  countenance  excepting  those  of  her  own 
people,  since  now  strange  faces  had  become  hate- 


DEAD  MAN'S  PLACK  91 

ful  to  her.  Then  again,  she  loved  riding,  and 
just  outside  of  her  gates  was  the  great  green  ex- 
panse of  the  Downs,  where  she  could  spend  hours 
on  horseback  without  meeting  or  seeing  a  human 
figure  except  occasionally  a  solitary  shepherd 
guarding  his  flock.  So  great  was  the  attraction 
the  Downs  had  for  her,  she  herself  marvelled 
at  it.  It  was  not  merely  the  sense  of  power 
and  freedom  the  rider  feels  on  a  horse,  with 
the  exhilarating  effect  of  swift  motion  and 
a  wide  horizon.  Here  she  had  got  out  of 
the  old  and  into  a  new  world  better  suited 
to  her  changed  spirit.  For  in  that  world  of 
men  and  women  in  which  she  had  lived 
until  now  all  nature  had  become  interfused  with 
her  own  and  other  people's  lives — passions  and 
hopes  and  fears  and  dreams  and  ambitions.  Now 
it  was  as  if  an  obscuring  purple  mist  had  been 
blown  away,  leaving  the  prospect  sharp  and 
clear  to  her  sight  as  it  had  never  been  before.  A 
wide  prospect  whose  grateful  silence  was  only 
broken  by  the  cry  or  song  of  some  wild  bird. 
Great  thickets  of  dwarf  thorn-tree  and  brambles 
and  gorse  aflame  with  yellow  flowers  or  dark  to 
blackness  by  contrast  with  the  pale  verdure  of 


92  DEAD  MAN'S  PLACK 

the  earth.  And  open  reaches  of  elastic  turf,  its 
green  suffused  or  sprinkled  with  red  or  blue  or 
yellow,  according  to  the  kind  of  flowers  proper 
to  the  season  and  place.  The  sight,  too,  of  wild 
creatures:  fallow  deer,  looking  yellow  in  the 
distance  against  the  dark  gorse;  a  flock  of  bust- 
ards taking  to  flight  on  her  approach  would 
rush  away,  their  spread  wings  flashing  like 
silver-white  in  the  brilliant  sunshine.  She  was 
like  them  on  her  horse,  borne  swiftly  as  on  wings 
above  the  earth,  but  always  near  it.  Then,  cast- 
ing her  eyes  up  she  would  watch  the  soarers,  the 
buzzards,  or  harriers  and  others,  circling  up 
from  earth  on  broad,  motionless  wings,  bird 
above  bird,  ever  rising  and  diminishing,  to  fade 
away  at  last  Into  the  universal  blue.  Then,  as  if 
aspiring  too,  she  would  seek  the  highest  point  on 
some  high  down  and  sitting  on  her  horse  survey 
the  prospect  before  her,  the  sea  of  rounded  hills, 
hills  beyond  hills,  stretching  away  to  the  dim 
horizon,  and  over  It  all  the  vast  blue  dome  of 
heaven.  Sky  and  earth,  with  thorny  brakes  and 
grass  and  flowers  and  wild  creatures,  with  birds 
that  flew  low  and  others  soaring  up  into  heaven 
— what  was  the  secret  meaning  it  had  for  her? 


DEAD  MAN'S  PLACK  93 

She  was  like  one  groping  for  a  key  in  a  dark 
place.  Not  a  human  figure  visible,  not  a  sign  of 
human  occupancy  on  that  expanse!  Was  this 
then  the  secret  of  her  elation?  The  all-powerful 
dreadful  God  she  was  at  enmity  with,  whom  she 
feared  and  fled  from,  was  not  here.  He,  or  his 
spirit,  was  where  man  inhabited,  in  cities  and 
other  centres  of  population,  where  there  were 
churches  and  monasteries. 

To  think  this  was  a  veritable  relief  to  her.  God 
was  where  men  worshipped  him  and  not  here! 
She  hugged  the  new  belief  and  it  made  her  bold 
and  defiant.  Doubtless  if  he  is  here,  she  would 
say,  and  can  read  my  thoughts,  my  horse  in  his 
very  next  gallop  will  put  his  foot  in  a  mole-run 
and  bring  me  down  and  break  my  neck.  Or 
when  yon  black  cloud  comes  over  me,  if  it  is  a 
thunder-cloud,  the  lightning  out  of  it  will  strike 
me  dead.  If  he  will  but  listen  to  his  servant 
Dunstan  this  will  surely  happen.  Was  it  God  or 
the  head  shepherd  of  his  sheep,  here  in  England, 
who  when  I  tried  to  enter  the  fold  beat  me  off 
with  his  staff  and  set  his  dogs  on  me  so  that  I  was 
driven  away,  torn  and  bleeding,  to  hide  myself  in 
a  solitary  place?    Would  it  then  be  better  for 


94.  DEAD  MAN'S   PLACK 

me  to  go  with  my  cries  for  mercy  to  his  seat?  O 
no,  I  could  not  come  to  him  there;  his  door- 
keepers would  bar  the  way  and  perhaps  bring 
together  a  crowd  of  their  people  to  howl  at  me: 
Go  away,  Murderess,  you  are  not  wanted  here! 
Now  in  spite  of  those  moments,  or  even  hours, 
of  elation,  during  which  her  mind  would  recover 
its  old  independence  until  the  sense  of  freedom 
was  like  an  intoxication;  when  she  cried  out 
against  God  that  he  was  cruel  and  unjust  in  his 
dealings  with  his  creatures,  that  he  had  raised 
up  and  given  power  to  the  man  who  held  the  rod 
over  her,  one  who  in  God's  holy  name  had  com- 
mitted crimes  infinitely  greater  than  hers,  and  she 
refused  to  submit  to  him — in  spite  of  it  all  she 
could  never  shake  off  the  terrible  thought  that 
in  the  end,  at  God's  judgment  seat,  she  would 
have  to  answer  for  her  own  dark  deeds.  She 
could  not  be  free  of  her  religion.  She  was  like 
one  who  tears  a  written  paper  to  pieces  and 
scatters  the  pieces  in  anger  to  see  them  blown 
away  like  snow-flakes  on  the  wind ;  who  by  and 
by  discovers  one  small  fragment  clinging  to  his 
garments  and  looking  at  the  half  a  dozen  words 
and  half  words  appearing  on  it  adds  others  from 


DEAD  MAN'S   PLACK  95 

memory  or  of  his  own  invention.  So  she  with 
what  was  left  when  she  had  thrust  her  religion 
away  built  for  herself  a  different  one  which  was 
yet  like  the  old;  and  even  here  in  this  solitude 
she  was  able  to  find  a  house  and  sacred  place  for 
meditation  and  prayer,  in  which  she  prayed  in- 
directly to  the  God  she  was  at  enmity  with.  For 
nr)W  invariably  on  returning  from  her  ride  to  her 
house  at  Amesbury  she  would  pay  a  visit  to  the 
Great  Stones,  the  ancient  temple  of  Stonehenge, 
Dismounting  she  would  order  her  attendants  to 
take  her  horse  away  and  wait  for  her  at  a  dis- 
tance so  as  not  to  be  disturbed  with  the  sound  of 
their  talking.  Going  in  she  would  seat  herself 
on  the  central  or  altar-stone  and  give  a  little  time 
to  meditation — to  the  tuning  of  her  mind.  That 
circle  of  rough-hewn  stones,  rough  with  grey 
lichen,  were  the  pillars  of  her  cathedral  with  the 
infinite  blue  sky  for  roof,  and  for  incense  the 
smell  of  flowers  and  aromatic  herbs,  and  for 
music  the  far  off  faintly  heard  sounds  that  came 
to  her  from  the  surrounding  wilderness — the 
tremulous  bleating  of  sheep  and  the  sudden  wild 
cry  of  hawk  or  stone  curlew.  Closing  her  eyes 
she  would  summon  the  familiar  image  and  vision 


96  DEAD  MAN'S  PLACK 

of  the  murdered  boy,  always  coming  so  quickly, 
so  vividly,  that  she  had  brought  herself  to  be- 
lieve that  it  was  not  a  mere  creation  of  her  own 
mind  and  of  remorse,  a  memory,  but  that  he 
was  actually  there  with  her.  Moving  her 
hand  over  the  rough  stone,  she  would  by  and 
by  let  it  rest,  pressing  it  on  the  stone  and 
would  say,  Now  I  have  your  hand  in  mine 
and  am  looking  with  my  soul's  eyes  into 
yours,  listen  again  to  the  words  I  have  spoken 
so  many  times.  You  would  not  be  here  if 
you  did  not  remember  me  and  pity  and  even 
love  me  still.  Know  then  that  I  am  now  alone 
in  the  world,  that  I  am  hated  by  the  world  be- 
cause of  your  bitter  death.  And  there  is  not  now 
one  living  being  in  the  world  that  I  love,  for  I 
have  ceased  to  love  even  my  own  boy,  your  old 
beloved  playmate,  seeing  that  he  has  long  been 
taken  from  me  and  taught  with  all  others  to 
despise  and  hate  me.  And  of  all  those  who  in- 
habit the  regions  above,  in  all  that  innumerable 
multitude  of  angels  and  saints  and  of  all  who 
have  died  on  earth  and  been  forgiven,  you  alone 
nave  any  feeling  of  compassion  for  me  and  can 
intercede  for  me.    Plead  for  me — plead  for  me, 


DEAD  MAN'S   PLACK  97 

O  my  son;  for  who  is  there  in  heaven  or  earth 
that  can  plead  so  powerfully  for  me  that  am 
stained  with  your  blood! 

Then,  having  finished  her  prayer,  and  wiped 
away  all  traces  of  tears  and  painful  emotions  she 
would  summon  her  attendants  and  ride  home,  in 
appearance  and  bearing  still  the  Elfrida  of  her 
great  days — the  calm,  proud-faced,  beautiful 
woman  who  was  once  Edgar's  queen. 


XI 


The  time  had  arrived  when  Elfrida  was  de- 
prived of  this,  her  one  relief  and  consolation^ 
her  rides  on  the  Downs  and  the  exercise  of  her 
religion  at  the  temple  of  the  Great  Stones,  when 
in  the  second  winter  of  her  residence  at  Ames- 
bury  there  fell  a  greater  darkness  than  that  of 
winter  in  England,  when  the  pirate  kings  of  the 
north  began  once  more  to  frequent  our  shores 
and  the  daily  dreadful  tale  of  battles  and  mas- 
sacres and  burning  of  villages  and  monasteries 
was  heard  throughout  the  kingdom.  These  in- 
vasions were  at  first  confined  to  the  Eastern 
countries,  but  the  agitation,  with  movements  of 
men  and  outbreaks  of  lawlessness,  was  every- 
where in  the  country,  and  the  queen  was  warned 
that  it  was  no  longer  safe  for  her  to  go  out  on 
Salisbury  Plain. 

The  close  seclusion  in  which  she  had  now  to 
live,  confined  to  house  and  enclosed  land,  affected 
her  spirits,  and  this  was  her  darkest  period,  and 

98 


DEAD  MAN'S   PLACK  99 

it  was  also  the  turning  point  in  her  life.  For  I 
now  come  to  the  strange  story  of  her  maid 
Editha,  who  despite  her  humble  position  in  the 
house  and  albeit  she  was  but  a  young  girl  in 
years,  one,  moreover,  of  a  meek,  timid  disposi- 
tion, was  yet  destined  to  play  an  exceedingly  im- 
portant part  in  the  queen's  history. 

It  happened  that  by  chance  or  design  the 
queen's  maid  who  was  her  closest  attendant,  who 
dressed  and  undressed  her,  was  suddenly  called 
away  on  some  urgent  matter,  and  this  girl 
Editha,  a  stranger  to  all,  was  put  in  her  place. 
The  queen,  who  was  in  a  moody  and  irritable 
state,  presently  discovered  that  the  sight  and 
presence  of  this  girl  produced  a  soothing  effect 
on  her  darkened  mind.  She  began  to  notice  her 
when  the  maid  combed  her  hair,  when  sitting 
with  half-closed  eyes  in  profound  dejection  she 
first  looked  attentively  at  that  face  behind  her 
head  in  the  mirror  and  marvelled  at  its  fairness, 
the  perfection  of  its  lines  and  delicate  colouring, 
the  pale  gold  hair  and  strangely  serious  grey 
eyes  that  were  never  lifted  to  meet  her  own. 

What  was  it  in  this  face,  she  asked  herself, 
that  held  her  and  gave  some  rest  to  her  tor- 


loo  DEAD  MAN'S  PLACK 

mented  spirit?  It  reminded  her  of  that  crystal 
stream  of  sweet  and  bitter  memories,  at  Wher- 
well,  on  which  she  used  to  gaze  and  in  which  she 
used  to  dip  her  hands,  then  to  press  the  wetted 
hands  to  her  lips.  It  also  reminded  her  of  an 
early  morning  sky,  seen  beyond  and  above  the 
green  dew-wet  earth,  so  infinitely  far  away,  so 
peaceful  with  a  peace  that  was  not  of  this  earth. 

It  was  not  then  merely  its  beauty  that  made 
this  face  so  much  to  her,  but  something  greater 
behind  it,  some  inner  grace,  the  peace  of  God  in 
her  soul. 

One  day  there  came  for  the  queen  as  a  gift 
from  some  distant  town  a  volume  of  parables  and 
fables  for  her  entertainment.  It  was  beautiful  to 
the  sight,  being  richly  bound  in  silk  and  gold  em- 
broidery; but  on  opening  it  she  soon  found  that 
there  was  little  pleasure  to  be  got  from  it  on  ac- 
count of  the  difficulty  she  found  in  reading  the 
crabbed  handwriting.  After  spending  some 
minutes  in  trying  to  decipher  a  paragraph  or  two 
she  threw  the  book  in  disgust  on  the  floor. 

The  maid  picked  it  up  and  after  a  glance  at  the 
first  page  said  it  was  easy  to  her  and  she  asked  if 
the  queen  would  allow  her  to  read  it  to  her. 


DEAD  MAN'S  PLACK  loi 

Elfrida,  surprised,  asked  how  it  came  about 
that  her  maid  was  able  to  read  a  difficult  script 
with  ease,  or  was  able  to  read  at  all ;  and  this  was 
the  first  question  she  had  condescended  to  put  to 
the  girl.  Editha  replied  that  she  had  been 
taught  as  a  child  by  a  great  uncle,  a  learned 
man;  that  she  had  been  made  to  read  volumes  in 
a  great  variety  of  scripts  to  him,  until  reading 
had  come  easy  to  her,  both  Saxon  and  Latin. 

Then,  having  received  permission  she  read  the 
first  fable  aloud,  and  Elfrida  listening,  albeit 
without  interest  in  the  tale  itself,  found  that  the 
voice  increased  the  girl's  attraction  for  her.  From 
that  time  the  queen  made  her  read  to  her  every 
day.  She  would  make  her  sit  a  little  distance 
from  her,  and  reclining  on  her  couch,  her  head 
resting  on  her  hand  she  would  let  her  eyes  dwell 
on  that  sweet  saint-like  face  until  the  reading 
was  finished. 

One  day  the  maid  read  to  her  from  the  same 
book  a  tale  of  a  great  noble,  an  earldoman  who 
was  ruler  under  the  king  of  that  part  of  the 
country  where  his  possessions  were,  whose 
power  was  practically  unlimited  and  his  word 
law.    But  he  was  a  wise  and  just  man,  regardful 


I02  DEAD  MAN'S  PLACK 

of  the  rights  of  others,  even  of  the  meanest  of 
men,  so  that  he  was  greatly  reverenced  and  loved 
by  the  people.  Nevertheless,  he  too,  like  all 
men  in  authority,  both  good  and  bad,  had  his 
enemies  and  the  chief  of  these  v/as  a  noble  of  a 
proud  and  froward  temper  who  had  quarrelled 
V,  ith  him  about  their  respective  rights  in  certain 
properties  where  their  lands  adjoined.  Again 
and  again  it  was  shown  to  him  that  his  contention 
was  wrong:  the  judgments  against  him  only 
served  to  increase  his  bitterness  and  hostility 
until  it  seemed  that  there  would  never  be  an  end 
to  that  strife.  This  at  length  so  incensed  his 
powerful  overlord  that  he  was  forcibly  de- 
prived of  his  possessions  and  driven*  out  beg- 
gared from  his  home.  But  no  punishment,  how- 
ever severe,  could  change  his  nature;  it  only 
roused  him  to  greater  fury,  a  more  fixed  deter- 
mination to  have  his  revenge,  so  that  outcast  as 
he  was  his  enmity  was  still  to  be  feared  and  he 
was  a  danger  to  the  ruler  and  the  community  in 
general.  Then,  at  last,  the  great  earl  said  he 
would  suffer  this  state  of  things  no  longer,  and 
he  ordered  his  men  to  go  out  and  seek  and  take 
him  captive  and  bring  him  up  for  a  final  judg- 


DEAD  MAN'S   PLACK  103 

ment.  This  was  done,  and  the  ruler  then  said  he 
would  not  have  him  put  to  death,  as  he  was  ad- 
vised to  do,  so  as  to  be  rid  of  him  once  for  all,  but 
would  inflict  a  greater  punishment  on  him.  He 
then  made  them  put  heavy  irons  on  his  ankles, 
rivetted  so  that  they  should  never  be  removed, 
and  condemned  him  to  slavery  and  to  labour 
every  day  in  his  fields  and  pleasure  grounds  for 
the  rest  of  his  life.  To  see  his  hated  enemy  re- 
duced to  that  condition  would,  he  said,  be  a  satis- 
faction to  him  whenever  he  walked  in  his  gar- 
dens. 

These  stern  commands  were  obeyed,  and  when 
the  miserable  man  refused  to  do  his  task  and 
cried  out  in  a  rage  that  he  would  rather  die,  he 
was  scourged  until  the  blood  ran  from  the 
wounds  made  by  the  lash ;  and  at  last,  to  escape 
from  his  torture,  he  was  compelled  to  obey,  and 
from  morning  to  night  he  laboured  on  the  land, 
planting  and  digging  and  doing  whatever  there 
was  to  do,  always  watched  by  his  overseer,  his 
food  thrown  to  him  as  to  a  dog;  laughed  and 
jeered  at  by  the  meanest  of  the  servants. 

After  a  certain  time,  when  his  body  grew 
hardened  so  that  he  could  labour  all  day  without 


I04  DEAD  MAN'S  PLACK 

pain  and,  being  fatigued,  sleep  all  night  without 
waking,  though  he  had  nothing  but  straw  on  a 
stone  floor  to  lie  upon;  and  when  he  was  no 
longer  mocked  or  punished  or  threatened  with 
the  lash,  he  began  to  reflect  more  and  more  on 
his  condition,  and  to  think  that  it  would  be  pos- 
sible to  him  to  make  it  more  endurable.  When 
brooding  on  it,  when  he  repined  and  cursed,  it 
then  seemed  to  him  worse  than  death;  but  when, 
occupied  with  his  task,  he  forgot  that  he  was  the 
slave  of  his  enemy,  who  had  overcome  and 
broken  him,  then  it  no  longer  seemed  so  heavy. 
The  sun  still  shone  for  him  as  for  others;  the 
earth  was  as  green,  the  sky  as  blue,  the  flowers 
as  fragrant.  This  reflection  made  his  misery 
less;  and  by  and  by  it  came  into  his  mind  that  it 
would  be  lessened  more  and  more  if  he  could 
forget  that  his  master  was  his  enemy  and  cruel 
persecutor,  who  took  delight  in  the  thought  of 
his  sufferings;  if  he  could  imagine  that  he  had  a 
different  master,  a  great  and  good  man  who  had 
ever  been  kind  to  him  and  whom  his  sole  desire 
was  to  please.  This  thought  working  in  his  mind 
began  to  give  him  a  satisfaction  in  his  toil,  and 
this  change  in  him  was  noticed  by  his  taskmaster, 


DEAD  MAN'S  PLACK  105 

who  began  to  see  that  he  did  his  work  with  an 
understanding  so  much  above  that  of  his  fellows 
that  all  those  who  laboured  with  him  were  in- 
fluenced by  his  example  and  whatsoever  the  toil 
was  in  which  he  had  a  part  the  work  was  better 
done.  From  the  taskmaster  this  change  became 
known  to  the  chief  head  of  all  the  lands,  who 
thereupon  had  him  set  to  other  more  important 
tasks,  so  that  at  last  he  was  not  only  a  toiler  with 
pick  and  spade  and  pruning  knife,  but  his  coun- 
sel was  sought  in  everything  that  concerned  the 
larger  works  on  the  land;  in  forming  planta- 
tions, in  the  draining  of  wet  grounds  and  build- 
ing houses  and  bridges  and  in  making  new  roads. 
And  in  all  these  works  he  acquitted  himself  well. 

Thus  he  laboured  for  years  and  it  all  became 
known  to  the  ruler,  who  at  length  ordered  the 
man  to  be  brought  before  him  to  receive  yet  an- 
other final  judgment.  And  when  he  stood  be- 
fore him,  hairy,  dirty  and  unkempt,  in  his 
ragged  raiment,  with  toil-hardened  hands  and 
heavy  irons  on  his  legs,  he  first  ordered  the  irons 
to  be  removed. 

The  smiths  came  with  their  files  and  ham- 
mers and  with  much  labour  took  them  off. 


io6  DEAD  MAN'S  PLACK 

Then  the  ruler,  his  powerful  old  enemy,  spoke 
these  words  to  him:  I  do  not  know  what  your 
motives  were  in  doing  what  you  have  done  in  all 
these  years  of  your  slavery;  nor  do  I  ask  to  be 
told.  It  is  sufficient  for  me  to  know  you  have 
done  these  things,  which  are  for  my  benefit  and 
are  a  debt  which  must  now  be  paid.  You  are 
henceforth  free,  and  the  possessions  you  were 
deprived  of  shall  be  restored  to  you,  and  as  to  the 
past  and  all  the  evil  thoughts  you  had  of  me  and 
all  you  did  to  me,  it  is  forgiven  and  from  this  day 
will  be  forgotten.    Go  in  peace. 

When  this  last  word  had  been  spoken  by  his 
enemy,  all  that  remained  of  the  old  hatred  and 
bitterness  went  out  of  him,  and  it  was  as  if  his 
soul  as  well  as  his  feet  had  been  burdened  with 
heavy  irons  and  that  they  had  now  been  removed 
and  he  was  free  with  a  freedom  he  had  never 
known  before. 

When  the  reading  was  finished  the  queen  with 
eyes  cast  down  remained  for  some  time  im- 
mersed in  thought;  then  with  a  keen  glance  at 
the  maid's  face  she  asked  for  the  book,  and  open- 
ing it  began  slowly  turning  the  leaves.  By  and 
by  her  face  darkened  and  in  a  stern  tone  of  voice 


DEAD  MAN'S   PLACK  107 

she  said :  Come  here  and  show  me  in  this  book 
the  parable  you  have  just  read,  and  then  you 
shall  also  show  me  two  or  three  other  parables 
you  have  read  to  me  on  former  occasions,  which 
I  cannot  find. 

The  maid,  pale  and  trembling,  came  and 
dropped  on  her  knees  and  begged  forgiveness  for 
having  recited  these  three  or  four  tales,  which 
she  had  heard  or  read  elsewhere  and  committed 
to  memory  and  had  pretended  to  read  them  out 
of  the  book. 

Then  the  queen  in  a  sudden  rage  said:  Go 
from  me  and  let  me  not  see  you  again  if  you  do 
not  wish  to  be  stripped  and  scourged  and  thrust 
naked  out  of  the  gates!  And  you  only  escape 
this  punishment  because  the  deceit  you  have 
been  practising  on  me  is  not,  to  my  thinking,  of 
your  own  invention  but  that  of  some  crafty 
monk  who  is  making  you  his  instrument. 

Editha,  terrified  and  weeping,  hurriedly 
quitted  the  room. 

By  and  by,  when  that  sudden  tempest  of  rage 
had  subsided,  the  despondence,  which  had  been 
somewhat  lightened  by  the  maid's  presence, 
came  back  on  her  so  heavily  that  it  was  almost 


io8  DEAD  MAN'S  PLACK 

past  endurance.  She  rose  and  went  to  her  sleep- 
ing room  and  knelt  before  a  table  on  which  stood 
a  crucifix  with  an  image  of  the  Saviour  on  it — 
the  emblem  of  the  religion  she  had  so  great  a 
quarrel  with.  But  not  to  pray.  Folding  her 
arms  on  the  table  and  dropping  her  face  on  them 
she  said:  What  have  I  done?  And  again  and 
again  she  repeated:  What  have  I  done?  Was  it 
indeed  a  monk  who  taught  her  this  deceit  or 
some  higher  being  who  put  it  in  her  mind  to 
whisper  a  hope  to  my  soul?  To  show  me  a  way 
of  escape  from  everlasting  death — to  labour  in 
his  fields  and  pleasure  grounds,  a  wretched  slave 
with  irons  on  her  feet,  to  be  scourged  and 
mocked  at,  and  in  this  state  to  cast  out  hatred  and 
bitterness  from  my  soul  and  all  remembrance  of 
the  injuries  he  had  inflicted  on  me — to  teach  my- 
self through  long  miserable  years  that  this 
powerful  enemy  and  persecutor  is  a  kind  and 
loving  master.  This  is  the  parable,  and  now  my 
soul  tells  me  it  would  be  a  light  punishment 
when  I  look  at  the  red  stains  on  these  hands  and 
when  the  image  of  the  boy  I  loved  and  murdered 
comes  back  to  me.    This  then  was  the  message, 


DEAD  MAN'S  PLACK  109 

and  I  drove  the  messenger  from  me  with  cruel 
threats  and  insult. 

Suddenly  she  rose  and  going  hurriedly  out 
called  to  her  maids  to  bring  Editha  to  her.  They 
told  her  the  maid  had  departed  instantly  on  be- 
ing dismissed  and  had  gone  upwards  of  an  hour. 
Then  she  ordered  them  to  go  and  search  for  her 
in*  all  the  neighbourhood,  at  every  house,  and 
when  they  had  found  her  to  bring  her  back  by 
persuasions  or  by  force. 

They  returned  after  a  time  only  to  say  they 
had  sought  for  her  everywhere  and  had  failed 
to  find  or  hear  any  report  of  her  but  that  some  of 
the  mounted  men  who  had  gone  to  look  for  her 
on  the  roads  had  not  yet  returned. 

Left  alone  once  more  she  turned  to  a  window 
which  looked  towards  Salisbury  and  saw  the 
westering  sun  hanging  low  in  a  sky  of  broken 
clouds  over  the  valley  of  the  Avon  and  the  green 
downs  on  either  side.  And,  still  communing 
with  herself,  she  said :  I  know  that  I  shall  not 
endure  it  long — this  great  fear  of  God — I  know 
that  it  will  madden  me.  And  for  the  unforgiven 
who  die  mad  there  can  be  no  hope.  Only  the 
sight  of  my  maid's  face  with  God's  peace  in  it 


no  DEAD  MAN'S   PLACK 

could  save  me  from  madness.  No,  I  shall  not  go 
mad!  I  shall  take  it  as  a  sign  that  I  cannot  be 
forgiven  if  the  sun  goes  down  without  my  seeing 
her  again.  I  shall  kill  myself  before  madness 
comes  and  rest  oblivious  of  life  and  all  things, 
even  of  God's  wrath,  until  the  dreadful  waking. 

For  some  time  longer  she  continued  standing 
motionless,  watching  the  sun,  now  sinking  be- 
hind a  dark  cloud,  then  emerging  and  lighting 
up  the  dim  interior  of  her  room  and  her  stone- 
white,  desolate  face. 

Then  once  more  her  servants  came  back  and 
with  them  Editha,  who  had  been  found  on  the 
road  to  Salisbury,  half  way  there. 

Left  alone  together  the  queen  took  the  maid  by 
the  hand  and  led  her  to  a  seat,  then  fell  on  her 
knees  before  her  and  clasped  her  legs  and  begged 
her  forgiveness.  When  the  maid  replied  that  she 
had  forgiven  her  and  tried  to  raise  her  up  she 
resisted,  and  cried:  No,  I  cannot  rise  from  my 
knees  nor  loose  my  hold  on  you  until  I  have  con- 
fessed to  you  and  you  have  promised  to  save  me. 
Now  I  see  in  you  not  my  maid  who  combs  my 
hair  and  ties  my  shoe  strings  but  one  that  God 
loves,  whom  he  exalts  above  the  queens  and 


DEAD  MAN'S  PLACK  in 

nobles  of  the  earth  and  while  I  cling  to  you  he 
will  not  strike.  Look  into  this  heart  that  has 
hated  him,  look  at  its  frightful  passions,  its 
blood  guiltiness,  and  have  compassion  on  me! 
And  if  you,  O  Editha,  should  reply  to  me  that  it 
is  his  will,  for  he  has  said  it,  that  every  soul 
shall  save  itself,  show  me  the  way.  How  shall 
I  approach  Him!    Teach  me  humility! 

Thus  she  pleaded  and  abased  herself.  Never- 
theless it  was  a  hard  task  she  imposed  upon  her 
helper,  seeing  that  humility  of  all  virtues  was  the 
most  contrary  to  her  nature.  And  when  she  was 
told  that  the  first  step  to  be  taken  was  to  be 
reconciled  to  the  church,  and  to  the  head  of  the 
church,  her  chief  enemy  and  persecutor,  whose 
monks,  obedient  to  his  command,  had  blackened 
her  name  in  all  the  land,  her  soul  was  in  fierce 
revolt.  Nevertheless  she  had  to  submit,  seeing 
that  God  himself  through  his  Son  when  on 
earth  and  his  Son's  disciples  had  established  the 
church,  and  by  that  door  only  could  any  soul  ap- 
proach him.  So  there  was  an  end  to  that  con- 
flict, and  Elfrida,  beaten  and  broken,  although 
ever  secretly  hating  the  tonsured  keepers  of  her 
soul,  set  forth  under  their  guidance  on  her  weary 


112  DEAD  MAN'S  PLACK 

pilgrimage — the  long  last  years  of  her  bitter  ex- 
piation. 

Yet  there  was  to  be  one  more  conflict  between 
the  two  women — the  imperious  mistress  and  the 
humble-minded  maid.  This  was  when  Editha 
announced  to  the  other  that  the  time  had  now 
come  for  her  to  depart.  But  the  queen  wished 
to  keep  her  and  tried  by  all  means  to  do  so,  by 
pleading  with  her  and  by  threatening  to  detain 
her  by  force.  Then,  repenting  her  anger  and  re- 
membering the  great  debt  of  gratitude  owing  to 
the  girl,  she  resolved  to  reward  her  generously,  to 
bestow  wealth  on  her,  but  in  such  a  form  that  it 
would  appear  to  the  girl  as  a  beautiful  parting 
gift  from  one  who  had  loved  her:  only  after- 
ward when  they  were  far  apart  would  she  dis- 
cover its  real  value. 

A  memory  of  the  past  had  come  to  her — of 
that  day,  sixteen  years  ago,  when  her  lover  came 
to  her  and,  using  sweet,  flattering  words,  poured 
out  from  a  bag  a  great  quantity  of  priceless 
jewels  into  her  lap,  and  of  the  joy  she  had  in  the 
gift.  Also  how  from  the  day  of  Athelwold's 
death  she  had  kept  those  treasures  put  away  in 
the  same  bag  out  of  her  sight.     Nor  in  all  the 


DEAD  MAN'S  PLACK  113 

days  of  her  life  with  Edgar  had  she  ever  worn  a 
gem,  though  she  had  always  loved  to  array  her- 
self magnificently,  but  her  ornaments  had  been 
gold  only,  the  work  of  the  best  artists  in  Europe. 
Now,  in  imitation  of  Athelwold,  when  his  man- 
ner of  bestowing  the  jewels  had  so  charmed  her, 
she  would  bestow  them  on  the  girl. 

Accordingly  when  the  moment  of  separation 
came  and  Editha  was  made  to  seat  herself,  the 
queen  standing  over  her  with  the  bag  in  her 
hand  said,  Do  you,  Editha,  love  all  beautiful 
things?  And  when  the  maid  had  replied  that 
she  did,  the  other  said,  Then  take  these  gems 
which  are  beautiful,  as  a  parting  gift  from  me. 
And  with  that  she  poured  out  the  mass  of  glitter- 
ing jewels  into  the  girl's  lap. 

But  the  maid,  without  touching  or  even  look- 
ing at  them  and  with  a  cry,  I  want  no  jewels! 
started  to  her  feet  so  that  they  were  all  scattered 
upon  the  floor. 

The  queen  stared,  astonished,  at  the  face  before 
her  with  its  new  look  of  pride  and  excitement, 
then  with  rising  anger  she  said :  Is  my  maid  too 
proud  then  to  accept  a  gift  from  me?    Does  she 


114  DEAD  MAN'S  PLACK 

not  know  that  a  single  one  of  those  gems  thrown 
on  the  floor  would  be  more  than  a  fortune  to  her? 

The  girl  replied  in  the  same  proud  way:  I  am 
not  your  maid  and  your  gems  are  no  more  to  me 
than  pebbles  from  the  brook! 

Then  all  at  once  recovering  her  meek,  gentle 
manner,  she  cried  in  a  voice  that  pierced  the 
queen's  heart:  O  not  your  maid,  only  your 
fellow-worker  in  our  Master's  fields  and  pleas- 
ure grounds!  Before  I  ever  beheld  your  face 
and  since  we  have  been  together  my  heart 
has  bled  for  you  and  my  daily  cry  to  God 
has  been.  Forgive  her!  Forgive  her,  for  his 
sake  who  died  for  our  sins.  And  this  shall  I 
continue  to  cry  though  I  shall  see  you  no  more 
on  earth.  But  we  shall  meet  again.  Not,  O  un- 
happy queen,  at  life's  end,  but  long  afterwards — 
long,  long  years!  long  ages! 

Dropping  on  her  knees  she  caught  and  kissed 
the  queen's  hand,  shedding  abundant  tears  on  it, 
then  rose  and  was  quickly  gone. 

Elfrida,  left  to  herself,  scarcely  recovered 
from  the  shock  of  surprise  at  that  sudden  change 
in  the  girl's  manner,  began  to  wonder  at  her  own 
blindness  in  not  having  seen  through  her  dis- 


DEAD  MAN'S  PLACK  115 

guise  from  the  first.  The  revelation  had  come  to 
her  only  at  the  last  moment  in  that  proud  gesture 
and  speech  when  her  gift  was  rejected  not  with- 
out scorn.  A  child  of  nobles  as  great  as  any  in 
the  land,  what  had  made  her  do  this  thing? 
What  indeed  but  the  heavenly  spirit  that  was  in 
her,  the  spirit  that  was  in  Christ — the  divine  pas- 
sion to  save! 

Now  she  began  to  ponder  on  those  last  words 
the  maid  had  spoken  and  the  more  she  thought 
of  them  the  greater  became  her  sadness  until  it 
was  like  the  approach  of  death.  O  terrible 
words!  Yet  it  was  what  she  had  feared,  even 
when  she  had  dared  to  hope  for  forgiveness.  Now 
she  knew  what  her  life  after  death  was  to  be  since 
the  word  had  been  spoken  by  those  inspired  lips. 
O  dreadful  destiny!  To  dwell  alone,  to  tread 
alone  that  desert  desolate,  that  illimitable  waste 
of  burning  sand  stretching  from  star  to  star 
through  infinite  space,  where  was  no  rock  nor 
tree  to  give  her  shade,  no  fountain  to  quench  her 
fiery  thirst!  For  that  was  how  she  imaged  the 
future  life,  as  a  desert  to  be  dwelt  in  until  in  the 
end,  when  in  God's  good  time — the  time  of  One 


ii6  DEAD  MAN'S   PLACK 

to  whom  a  thousand  years  are  as  one  day — she 
would  receive  the  final  pardon  and  be  admitted 
to  rest  in  a  green  and  shaded  place. 

Overcome  with  the  agonising  thought,  she 
sank  down  on  her  couch  and  fell  into  a  faint. 
In  that  state  she  was  found  by  her  women,  re- 
clining still  as  death,  with  eyes  closed,  the  white- 
ness of  death  in  her  face;  and  thinking  her  dead, 
they  rushed  out  terrified,  crying  aloud  and 
lamenting  that  the  queen  was  dead. 


XII 

She  was  not  dead.  She  recovered  from  that 
swoon,  but  never  from  the  deep,  unbroken  sad- 
ness caused  by  those  last  words  of  the  maid 
Editha,  which  had  overcome  and  nearly  slain 
her.  She  now  abandoned  her  seclusion  but  the 
world  she  returned  to  was  not  the  old  one.  The 
thought  that  every  person  she  met  was  saying  in 
his  or  her  heart:  This  is  Elfrida;  this  is  the 
queen  who  murdered  Edward  the  Martyr,  her 
step-son,  made  that  world  impossible.  The  men 
and  women  she  now  consorted  with  were  the  re- 
ligious and  ecclesiastics  of  all  degrees,  and  ab- 
bots and  abbesses.  These  were  the  people  she 
loved  least,  yet  now  into  their  hands  she  delib- 
erately gave  herself;  and  to  those  who  ques- 
tioned her,  to  her  spiritual  guides,  she  revealed 
all  her  life  and  thoughts  and  passions,  opening 
her  soul  to  their  eyes  like  a  manuscript  for  them 
to  read  and  consider:  and  vvhen  they  told  her 
that  in  God's  sight  she  was  guilty  of  the  murder 

117 


ii8  DEAD  MAN'S  PLACK 

both  of  Edward  and  Athelwold,  she  replied  that 
they  doubtless  knew  best  what  was  in  God's  mind 
and  whatever  they  commanded  her  to  do  that 
should  be  done,  and  if  in  her  own  mind  it  was  not 
as  they  said  this  could  be  taken  as  a  defect  in 
her  understanding.  For  in  her  heart  she  was  not 
changed  and  had  not  yet  and  never  would  learn 
the  bitter  lesson  of  humility.  Furthermore,  she 
knew  better  than  they  what  life  and  death  had  in 
store  for  her,  since  it  had  been  revealed  to  her  by 
holier  lips  than  those  of  any  priest.  Lips  on 
which  had  been  laid  a  coal  from  the  heavenly 
altar,  and  what  they  had  foretold  would 
come  to  pass — that  unearthly  pilgrimage  and 
purification — that  destiny,  dreadful,  ineluctable, 
that  made  her  soul  faint  to  think  of  it.  Here,  on 
this  earth,  it  was  for  her  to  toil,  a  slave  with 
heavy  irons  on  her  feet,  in  her  master's  fields  and 
pleasure  grounds,  and  these  gowned  men  with 
shaven  heads,  wearing  ropes  of  beads  and  cruci- 
fixes as  emblems  of  their  authority — these  were 
the  taskmasters  set  over  her,  and  to  these,  she, 
Elf  rida,  one  time  queen  in  England,  would  bend 
humbly  in  submission  and  confess  her  sins  and 
kiss    their   hands,    and    uncomplainingly    take 


DEAD  MAN'S  PLACK  ng 

whatever  austerities  or  other  punishments  they 
decreed. 

Here  then,  at  Amesbury  itself,  she  began  her 
works  of  expiation,  and  found  that  she  too,  like 
the  unhappy  man  in  the  parable,  could  experi- 
ence some  relief  and  satisfaction  in  her  solitary, 
embittered  existence  in  the  work  itself. 

Having  been  told  that  at  this  village  where  she 
was  living,  a  monastery  had  existed  and  had  been 
destroyed  in  the  dreadful  wars  of  tw^o  or  three 
centuries  ago,  she  conceived  the  idea  of  founding 
a  new  one,  a  nunnery,  and  endowing  it  richly, 
and  accordingly  the  Abbey  of  Amesbury  was 
built  and  generously  endowed  by  her. 

This  religious  house  became  famous  in  after 
days  and  was  resorted  to  by  the  noblest  ladies  in 
the  land  who  desired  to  take  the  veil,  including 
princesses  and  w^idow  queens;  and  it  continued 
to  flourish  for  centuries,  down  to  the  Dissolution. 

This  work  completed,  she  returned,  after 
nineteen  years,  to  her  old  home  at  Wherwell. 
Since  she  had  lost  sight  of  her  maid  Editha  she 
had  been  possessed  with  the  desire  to  revisit  that 
spot,  where  she  had  been  happy  as  a  young  bride 
and  had  repined  in  solitude  and  had  had  her 


120  DEAD  MAN'S  PLACK 

glorious  triumph  and  stained  her  soul  with 
crime.  She  craved  for  it  again,  especially  to 
look  once  more  at  the  crystal  current  of  the  Test 
in  which  she  had  been  accustomed  to  dip  her 
hands.  The  grave,  saintly  face  of  Editha  had 
reminded  her  of  that  stream;  and  Editha  she 
might  not  see.  She  could  not  seek  for  her,  nor 
speak  to  her,  nor  cry  to  her  to  come  back  to 
her,  since  she  had  said  that  they  would  meet  no 
more  on  earth. 

Having  become  possessed  of  the  castle  which 
she  had  once  regarded  as  her  prison  and  cage, 
she  ordered  its  demolition  and  used  the  materials 
in  building  the  Abbey  she  founded  at  that  spot, 
and  it  was  taken  for  granted  by  the  Church  that 
this  was  done  in  expiation  of  the  part  she  had 
taken  in  Athelwold's  murder.  And  at  this  spot, 
where  the  stream  had  become  associated  in  her 
mind  with  the  thought  of  Editha  and  was  a 
sacred  stream,  she  resolved  to  end  her  days.  But 
the  time  of  her  retirement  was  not  yet,  there  was 
much  still  waiting  for  her  to  do  in  her  master's 
fields  and  pleasure  grounds.  For  no  sooner  had 
the  tidings  of  her  work  in  founding  these  monas- 
teries and  the  lavish  use  she  was  making  of  her 


DEAD  MAN'S  PLACK  121 

great  wealth  been  spread  abroad  than  from 
many  religious  houses  all  over  the  land  the  cry 
was  sent  to  her — the  Macedonian  cry  to  Paul 
to  come  over  and  help  us. 

From  the  houses  founded  by  Edgar  the  cry  was 
particularly  loud  and  insistent.  There  were 
forty-seven  of  them  and  had  not  Edgar  died  so 
soon  there  would  have  been  fifty,  that  being  the 
number  he  had  set  his  heart  on  in  his  fervid  zeal 
for  religion.  All,  alas,  were  insufficiently  en- 
dowed ;  and  it  was  for  Elf  rida,  as  they  were  care- 
ful to  point  out,  to  increase  their  income  from 
her  great  wealth,  seeing  that  this  would  enable 
them  to  associate  her  name  with  that  of  Edgar 
and  keep  it  in  memory,  and  this  would  be  good 
for  her  soul. 

To  all  such  calls  she  listened,  and  she  per- 
formed many  and  long  journeys  to  the  religious 
houses  all  over  the  country  to  look  closely  into 
their  conditions  and  needs,  and  to  all  she  gave 
freely  or  in  moderation,  but  not  always  without 
a  gesture  of  scorn.  For  in  her  heart  of  hearts  she 
was  still  Elfrida  and  unchanged,  albeit  out- 
wardly she  had  attained  to  humility;  only  once 
during  these  years  of  travel  and  toil  when  shfi 


122  DEAD  MAN'S  PLACK 

was  getting  rid  of  her  wealth  did  she  allow  her 
secret  bitterness  and  hostility  to  her  ecclesiastical 
guides  and  advisers  to  break  out. 

She  was  at  Worcester,  engaged  in  a  confer- 
ence with  the  bishop  and  several  of  his  clergy; 
they  were*  sitting  at  an  oak  table  with  some 
papers  and  plans  before  them,  when  the  news 
was  brought  into  the  room  that  Archbishop 
Dunstan  was  dead. 

They  all,  except  Elfrida,  started  to  their  feet 
with  looks  and  exclamations  of  dismay  as  if  some 
frightful  calamity  had  come  to  pass.  Then, 
dropping  upon  their  knees  with  bowed  heads 
and  lifted  hands  they  prayed  for  the  repose  of 
his  soul.  They  prayed  silently,  but  the  silence 
was  broken  by  a  laugh  from  the  queen.  Starting 
to  his  feet  the  bishop  turned  on  her  a  severe 
countenance  and  asked  why  she  laughed  at  that 
solemn  moment. 

She  replied  that  she  had  laughed  unthink- 
ingly, as  the  linnet  sings,  from  pure  joy  of  heart 
at  the  glad  tidings  that  their  holy  archbishop  had 
been  translated  to  paradise.  For  if  he  had  done 
so  much  for  England  when  burdened  with  the 
flesh,  how  much  more  would  he  be  able  to  do 


DEAD  MAN'S  PLACK  123 

now  from  the  seat  or  throne  to  which  he  would 
be  exalted  in  heaven  in  virtue  of  the  position  his 
blessed  mother  now  occupied  in  that  place.         i 

The  bishop,  angered  at  her  mocking  words, 
turned  his  back  on  her,  and  the  others,  following 
his  example,  averted  their  faces  but  not  one  word 
did  they  utter. 

They  remembered  that  Dunstan  in  former 
years,  when  striving  to  make  himself  all  power- 
ful in  the  kingdom,  had  made  free  use  of  a 
supernatural  machinery;  that  when  he  wanted  a 
thing  done  and  it  could  not  be  done  in  any  other 
way,  he  received  a  command  from  heaven, 
brought  to  him  by  some  saint  or  angel,  to  have  it 
done,  and  the  command  had  then  to  be  obeyed. 
They  also  remembered  that  when  Dunstan,  as  he 
informed  them,  had  been  snatched  up  into  the 
seventh  heaven,  he  did  not  on  his  return  to  earth 
say  modestly,  like  St.  Paul,  that  it  was  not  lawftil 
for  him  to  speak  of  the  things  which  he  had 
heard  and  seen,  but  he  proclaimed  them  to  an 
astonished  world  in  his  loudest  trumpet  voice. 
Also,  that  when,  by  these  means,  he  had  estab- 
lished his  power  and  influence  and  knew  that  he 
could  trust  his  own.subtle  brains  to  maintain  his 


124  DEAD  MAN'S  PLACK 

position,  he  had  dropped  the  miracles  and 
visions.  And  it  had  come  to  pass  that  when  the 
Archbishop  had  seen  fit  to  drop  the  supernatural 
element  out  of  his  policy^ the  heads  of  the  Church 
in  England  were  only  too  pleased  to  have  it  so. 
The  world  had  gaped  with  astonishment  at  these 
revelations  long  enough  and  its  credulity  had 
come  near  to  the  breaking  point,  on  which  ac- 
count the  raking  up  of  these  perilous  matters  by 
the  queen  was  fiercely  resented. 

But  the  queen  was  not  yet  satisfied  that  enough 
had  been  said  by  her.  Now  she  was  in  full  re- 
volt, she  must  give  out  once  for  all  the  hatred 
of  her  old  enemy,  which  his  death  had  not  ap- 
peased. 

What  mean  you.  Fathers,  she  cried,  by  turning 
your  backs  on  me  and  keeping  silence?  Is  it 
an  insult  to  me  you  intend  or  to  the  memory  of 
that  great  and  holy  man  who  has  just  quitted  the 
earth?  Will  you  dare  to  say  that  the  reports  he 
brought  to  us  of  the  marvellous  doings  he  wit- 
nessed in  heaven,  when  he  was  taken  there,  were 
false  and  the  lies  and  inventions  of  Satan,  whose 
servant  he  was? 

More  than  that  she  was  not  allowed  to  say,  for 


DEAD  MAN'S   PLACK  125 

now  the  bishop,  in  a  mighty  rage,  swung  round 
and  dealing  a  blow  on  the  table  with  such  fury 
that  his  arm  was  disabled  by  it,  he  shouted  at 
her:  Not  another  word!  Hold  your  mocking 
tongue,  fiendish  woman!  Then  plucking  up  his 
gown  with  his  left  hand  for  fear  of  being  tripped 
up  by  it  he  rushed  out  of  the  room. 

The  others,  still  keeping  their  faces  averted 
from  her,  followed  at  a  more  dignified  pace;  and 
seeing  them  depart  she  cried  after  them:  Go, 
Fathers,  and  tell  your  bishop  that  if  he  had  not 
run  away  so  soon  he  would  have  been  rewarded 
for  his  insolence  by  a  slap  in  the  face. 

This  outburst  on  her  part  caused  no  lasting 
break  in  her  relations  with  the  Church.  It  was 
to  her  merely  an  incident  in  her  long  day's  toil  in 
her  Master's  fields — a  quarrel  she  had  had  with 
an  overseer:  while  he,  on  his  side,  even  before 
he  recovered  the  use  of  his  injured  arm,  thought 
it  best  for  their  souls,  as  well  as  for  the  interests 
of  the  Church,  to  say  no  more  about  it.  Her  great 
works  of  expiation  were  accordingly  continued. 
But  the  time  at  length  arrived  for  her  to  take  her 
long  desired  rest  before  facing  the  unknown, 
dreaded  future.     She  was  not  old  in  years,  but 


126  DEAD  MAN'S  PLACK' 

remorse  and  a  deep,  settled  melancholy  and  her 
frequent  fierce  wrestlings  with  her  own  rebel- 
lious nature  as  with  an  untamed  dangerous  ani- 
mal chained  to  her,  had  made  hei  old.  Further- 
more, she  had  by  now  well  nigh  expended  all  her 
possessions  and  wealth,  even  to  the  gems  she  had 
once  prized  and  then  thrust  away  out  of  sight  for 
many  years  and  which  her  maid  Editha  had  re- 
jected with  scorn,  saying  they  were  no  mor&  to 
her  than  pebbles  from  the  brook. 

Once  more  at  Wherwell,  she  entered  the 
Abbey  and  albeit  she  took  the  veil  herself  she 
was  not  under  the  same  strict  rule  as  her  sister 
nuns.  The  Abbess  herself  retired  to  Winchester 
and  ruled  the  convent  from  that  city,  while 
Elf  rida  had  the  liberty  she  desired  to  live  and  do 
as  she  liked  in  her  own  rooms  and  attend  prayers 
and  meals  only  when  inclined  to  do  so.  There, 
as  always,  since  Edward's  death,  her  life  was  a 
solitary  one,  and  in  the  cold  season  she  would 
have  her  fire  of  logs  and  sit  before  it  as  in  the  old 
days  in  the  castle,  brooding  ever  on  her  happy 
and  unhappy  past  and  on  the  awful  future,  the 
years  and  centuries  of  suffering  and  purification. 

It  was  chiefly  this  thought  of  the  solitariness 


DEAD  MAN'S   PLACK  127 

of  that  future  state,  that  companionless  way,  cen- 
turies long,  that  daunted  her.  Here  in  this 
earthly  state,  darkened  as  it  was,  there  were  yet 
two  souls  she  could  and  constantly  did  hold  com- 
munion with — Editha  still  on  earth,  though  not 
with  her,  and  Edward  in  heaven;  but  in  that 
dreadful  desert  to  which  she  would  be  banished 
there  would  be  a  great  gulf  set  between  her  soul 
and  theirs. 

But  perhaps  there  would  be  others  she  had 
known,  whose  lives  had  been  interwoven  with 
hers,  with  whom  she  would  be  allowed  to  com- 
mune in  that  same  place?  Edgar  of  a  certainty 
would  be  there,  although  Glastonbury  had  built 
him  a  chapel  and  put  him  in  a  silver  tomb  and 
had  begun  to  call  him  Saint  Edgar.  Would  he 
find  her  and  seek  to  have  speech  with  her?  It 
was  anguish  to  her  even  to  think  of  such  an  en- 
counter. She  would  say:  Do  not  come  to  me, 
for  rather  would  I  be  alone  in  this  dreadful  soli- 
tude for  a  thousand  years  than  have  you,  Edgar, 
for  company.  For  I  have  not  now  one  thought 
or  memory  of  you  in  my  soul  that  is  not  bitter. 
It  is  true-  that  I  once  loved  you :  even  before  I 
saw  your  face  I  loved  you  and  said  in  my  heart 


128  DEAD  MAN'S  PLACK^ 

that  we  two  were  destined  to  be  one.  And  my 
love  increased  when  we  were  united  and  you 
gave  me  my  heart's  desire — the  power  I  loved 
and  glory  in  the  sight  of  the  world.  And  al- 
though in  my  heart  I  laughed  at  your  pretended 
zeal  for  a  pure  religion  while  you  were  gratify- 
ing your  lower  desires  and  chasing  after  fair 
women  all  over  the  land,  I  admired  and  gloried 
in  your  nobler  qualities,  your  activity  and 
vigilance  in  keeping  the  peace  within  your  bor- 
ders and  in  making  England  master  of  the  seas 
so  that  the  pirate  kings  of  the  North  ventured 
not  to  approach  our  shores.  But  on  your  own 
gross  appetites  you  would  put  no  restraint  but 
gave  yourself  up  to  wine  and  gluttony  and  made 
a  companion  of  Death — even  in  the  flower  of 
your  age  you  were  playing  with  Death,  and  when 
you  had  lived  but  half  your  years  yoii  rode  away 
with  Death  and  left  me  alone :  you,  Edgar,  the 
mighty  hunter  and  slayer  of  wolves,  you  rode 
away  and  left  me  to  the  wolves,  alone,  in  a  dark 
forest.  Therefore  the  guilt  of  Edward's  death  is 
yours  more  than  mine,  though  my  soul  is  stained 
red  with  his  blood,  seeing  that  you  left  me  to 


DEAD  MAN'S  PLACK  129 

fight  alone,  and  in  my  madness,  not  knowing 
what  I  did,  I  stained  myself  with  this  crime. 

But  what  you  have  done  to  me  is  of  little 
moment,  .seeing  that  mine  is  but  one  soul  of  the 
many  thousands  that  were  given  into  your 
keeping,  and  your  crime  in  wasting  your  life  for 
the  sake  of  base  pleasures  was  committed  against 
an  entire  nation,  and  not  of  the  living  only  but 
also  the  great  and  glorious  dead  of  the  race  of 
Cerdic — of  the  men  who  have  laboured  these 
many  centuries,  shedding  their  blood  on  a  hun- 
dred stricken  fields,  to  build  up  this  kingdom  of 
England;  and  when  their  mighty  work  was  com- 
pleted it  was  given  into  your  hands  to  keep  and 
guard.  And  you  died  and  abandoned  it;  Death, 
your  playmate,  has  taken  you  away  and  Edgar's 
peace  is  no  more.  Now  your  ships  are  scattered 
or  sunk  in  the  sea,  now  the  invaders  are  again  on 
your  coasts  as  in  the  old  dreadful  days,  burning 
and  slaying,  and  want  is  everywhere  and  fear  is 
in  all  hearts  throughout  the  land.  And  the  king, 
your  son  who  inherited  your  beautiful  face  and 
nought  beside  except  your  vices  and  whatever  was 
least  worthy  of  a  king,  he  too  is  now  taking  his 
pleasure,  even  as  you  took  yours,  in  a  gay  be- 


I30  DEAD  MAN'S   PLACK 

jewelled  dress,  with  some  shameless  woman  at 
his  side  and  a  wine  cup  in  his  hand.  O  un- 
happy mother  that  I  am,  that  I  must  curse  the 
day  a  son  was  born  to  me!  O  grief  im.- 
mitigable,  that  it  was  my  deed,  my  dreadful 
deed,  that  raised  him  to  the  throne — the 
throne  that  was  Alfred's  and  Edmund's  and 
Athelstan's! 

These  were  the  thoughts  that  were  her  only 
jTompany  as  she  sat  brooding  before  her  winter 
fire,  day  after  day  and  winter  following  winter 
while  the  years  deepened  the  lines  of  anguish  on 
her  face  and  whitened  the  hair  that  was  once  red 
gold. 

But  in  the  summer  time  she  was  less  unhappy, 
for  then  she  could  spend  the  long  hours  out  of 
doors  under  the  sky  in  the  large,  shaded  gardens 
of  the  convent  with  the  stream  for  boundary  on 
the  lower  side.  This  stream  had  now  become 
more  to  her  than  in  the  old  days  when  languishing 
in  solitude  she  had  made  it  a  companion  and  con- 
fidant. For  now  it  had  become  associated  in  her 
mind  v/ith  the  Image  of  the  maid  Editha,  and 
when  she  sat  again  at  the  old  spot  on  the  banks, 
gazing  on  the  swift  crystal  current,  then  dipping 


DEAD  MAN'S   PLACK  131 

her  hand  in  it  and  putting  the  wetted  hand  to  her 
lips,  the  stream  and  Editha  were  one. 

Then  one  day  she  was  missed,  and  for  a  long 
time  they  sought  for  her  all  through  the  building 
and  in  the  grounds  without  finding  her.  Then 
the  seekers  heard  a  loud  cry  and  saw  one  of  the 
nuns  running  towards  the  convent  door,  with  her 
hands  pressed  to  her  face  as  if  to  shut  out  some 
dreadful  sight,  and  when  they  called  to  her  she 
pointed  back  towards  the  stream  and  ran  on  to 
the  house.  Then  all  the  sisters  who  were  out  in 
the  grounds  hurried  down  to  the  stream  to  the 
spot  where  Elfrida  was  accustomed  to  sit  and 
were  horrified  to  see  her  lying  drowned  in  the 
water. 

It  was  a  hot,  dry  summer  and  the  stream  was 
low,  and  in  stooping  to  dip  her  hand  in  the  water 
she  had  lost  her  balance  and  fallen  in,  and  al- 
though the  water  was  but  three  feet  deep  she  had 
in  her  feebleness  been  unable  to  save  herself. 
She  was  lying  on  her  back  on  the  clearly-seen 
bed  of  many-coloured  pebbles,  her  head  pointing 
down-stream,  and  the  swift,  fretting  current  had 
carried  away  her  hood  and  pulled  out  her  long 
abundant   silver-white   hair,    and    the   current 


132  DEAD  MAN'S   PLACK 

played  with  her  hair,  now  pulling  it  straight  out, 
then  spreading  it  wide  over  the  surface,  mixing 
its  silvery  threads  with  the  hair-like  green  blades 
of  the  floating  water-grass.  And  the  dead  face 
was  like  marble ;  but  the  wide-open  eyes  that  had 
never  wholly  lost  their  brilliance  and  the  beauti- 
ful lungwort  blue  colour  were  like  living  eyes — 
living  and  gazing  through  the  crystal-clear 
running  water  at  the  group  of  nuns  staring  down 
with  horror-struck  faces  at  her. 

Thus  ended  Elfrida's  darkened  life;  nor  did 
it  seem  an  unfit  end;  for  it  was  as  if  she  had 
fallen  into  the  arms  of  the  maiden  who  had  in 
her  thoughts  become  one  with  the  stream — the 
saintly  Editha  through  whose  sacrifice  and  inter- 
cession she  had  been  saved  from  death  ever- 
lasting. 


AN  OLD  THORN 


THE  little  village  of  Ingden  lies  in  a  hollow 
of  the  South  Wiltshire  Downs,  the  most 
isolated  of  the  villages  in  that  lonely  district.  Its 
one  short  street  is  crossed  at  right  angles  in  the 
middle  part  by  the  Salisbury  road,  and  standing 
just  at  that  point,  the  church  on  one  hand,  the 
old  inn  on  the  other,  you  can  follow  it  with  the 
eye  for  a  distance  of  nearly  three  miles.  First 
it  goes  winding  up  the  low  down  under  which 
the  village  stands,  then  vanishes  over  the  brow, 
to  reappear  again  a  mile  and  a  half  further 
away,  as  a  white  band  on  the  vast  green  slope  of 
the  succeeding  down,  which  rises  to  a  height  of 
over  six  hundred  feet.  On  the  summit  it  van- 
ishes once  more,  but  those  who  use  it  know  it  for 
a  laborious  road,  crossing  several  high  ridges 
before  dropping  down  into  the  valley  road  lead- 
ing to  Salisbury. 

When,  standing  in  the  village  street,  your  eye 
travels  up  that  white  band,  you  can  distinctly 

135 


136  DEAD  MAN'S  PLACK 

make  out,  even  at  that  distance,  a  small,  solitary 
tree,  standing  near  the  summit — an  old  thorn 
with  an  ivy  growing  on  it.  My  walks  were  often 
that  way,  and  invariably  on  coming  to  that  point, 
I  would  turn  twenty  yards  aside  from  the  road  to 
spend  half-an-hour  seated  on  the  turf  near  or 
under  the  old  tree.  These  half-hours  were  al- 
ways grateful,  and  conscious  that  the  tree  drew 
me  to  it,  I  questioned  myself  as  to  the  reason.  It 
was,  I  told  myself,  nothing  but  mental  curiosity: 
my  interest  was  a  purely  scientific  one.  For 
how  comes  it,  I  asked,  that  a  thorn  can  grow  to  a 
tree  and  live  to  a  great  age  in  such  a  situation,  on 
a  vast,  naked  down,  where  for  many  centuries, 
perhaps  for  thousands  of  years,  the  herbage  has 
been  so  closely  fed  by  sheep  as  to  have  the  ap- 
pearance of  a  carpet  or  newly  mown  lawn?  The 
seed  is  carried  and  scattered  everywhere  by  the 
birds,  but  no  sooner  does  it  germinate  and  send 
up  a  shoot,  than  it  is  eaten  down  to  the  roots;  for 
there  is  no  scent  that  attracts  a  sheep  more,  no 
flavour  it  has  greater  taste  for,  than  that  of  any 
forest  seedling  springing  up  amidst  the  minute 
herbaceous  plants  which  carpet  the  downs.  The 
thorn,  like  other  organisms,  has  its  own  uncon- 


AN  OLD  THORN  137 

scious  intelligence  and  cunning,  by  means  of 
which  it  endeavours  to  save  itself  and  fulfil  its 
life.  It  opens  its  first  tender  leaves  under  the 
herbage,  and,  at  the  same  time,  thrusts  up  a  ver- 
tical spine  to  v^ound  the  nibbling  mouth;  and  no 
sooner  has  it  got  a  leaf  or  two  and  a  spine,  then 
it  spreads  its  roots  all  round,  and  from  each  of 
them  springs  a  fresh  shoot,  leaves,  and  protect- 
ing spine,  to  increase  the  chances  of  preserva- 
tion. In  vain!  The  cunning  animal  finds  a  way 
to  defeat  all  this  strategy,  and  after  the  leaves 
have  been  bitten  off  again  and  again,  the  infant 
plant  gives  up  the  struggle  and  dies  in  the 
ground.  Yet  we  see  that  from  time  to  time  one 
survives — one,  perhaps,  in  a  million;  but  how? 
Whether  by  a  quicker  growth  or  a  harder  or 
more  poisonous  thorn,  an  unpalatable  leaf,  or 
some  other  secret  agency,  we  cannot  guess.  First 
as  a  diminutive,  scrubby  shrub,  with  numerous 
iron-hard  stems,  with  few  and  small  leaves,  but 
many  thorns,  it  keeps  its  poor  flowerless,  frus- 
trate life  for  perhaps  half  a  century  or  longer, 
without  growing  more  than  a  couple  of  feet 
high ;  and  then,  as  by  a  miracle,  it  will  spring  up 
until  its  top  shoots  are  out  of  reach  of  the  brows- 


138  DEAD  MAN'S  PLACK 

ing  sheep,  and  in  the  end  it  becomes  a  tree  with 
spreading  branches  and  fully  developed  leaves, 
and  flowers  and  fruit  in  their  season. 

One  day  I  was  visited  by  an  artist  from  a  dis- 
tance, who,  when  shown  the  thorn,  pronounced 
it  a  fine  subject  for  his  pencil,  and  while  he  made 
his  picture,  we  talked  about  the  hawthorn  gen- 
erally, as  compared  with  other  trees,  and  agreed 
that — except  in  its  blossoming  time,  when  it  is 
merely  pretty — it  is  the  most  engaging,  and  per- 
haps the  most  beautiful  of  our  native  trees.  We 
said  that  it  was  the  most  individual  of  trees,  that 
its  variety  was  infinite,  for  you  never  find  two 
alike,  whether  growing  in  a  forest,  in  groups  or 
masses,  or  alone.  We  were  almost  lyrical  in  its 
praises.  But  the  solitary  thorn  was  always  best, 
he  said,  and  this  one  was  perhaps  the  best  of  all 
he  had  seen;  strange,  and  at  the  same  time,  dec- 
orative in  its  form,  beautiful,  too,  in  its  appear- 
ance of  great  age,  with  unimpaired  vigour  and 
something  more  in  its  expression — that  elusive 
something  which  we  find  in  some  trees  and  don't 
know  how  to  explain. 

Ah,  yes,  thought  I,  it  was  this  appeal  to  the 
aesthetic  faculty  which  attracted  me  from  the 


AN  OLD  THORN  139 

first,  and  not,  as  I  had  imagined,  the  mere  curi- 
osity of  the  naturalist,  interested  mainly  and  al- 
ways in  the  habits  of  living  things,  plant  or  ani- 
mal. 

Certainly  the  thorn  had  strangeness!  Its  ap- 
pearance as  to  height  was  deceptive;  one  would 
have  guessed  it  eighteen  feet;  measuring  it,  I 
was  surprised  to  find  it  only  ten.  It  has  four 
separate  boles,  springing  from  one  root,  leaning 
a  little  away  from  each  other,  the  thickest  just  a 
foot  in  circumference.  The  branches  are  few, 
beginning  at  about  five  feet  from  the  ground,  the 
foliage  thin,  the  leaves  throughout  the  summer 
stained  with  grey,  rust-red  and  purple  colour. 
Though  so  small,  and  exposed  to  the  full  fury  of 
every  wind  that  blows  over  that  vast,  naked 
down,  it  has  yet  an  ivy  growing  on  it — the 
strangest  of  the  many  strange  ivy-plants  I  have 
seen.  It  comes  out  of  the  ground  as  two  ivy 
trunks  on  opposite  sides  of  the  stoutest  bole,  but 
at  a  height  of  four  feet  from  the  surface  the  two 
join  and  ascend  the  tree  as  one  round,  iron- 
coloured  and  iron-hard  stem,  which  goes  curv- 
ing and  winding  snakewise  among  the  branches 
as  if  with  the  object  of  roping  them  to  save  them 


'i40  DEAD  MAN'S  PLACK 

from  being  torn  off  by  the  winds.  Finally,  rising 
to  the  top,  the  long  serpent-stem  opens  out  in  a 
flat,  disk-shaped  mass  of  close-packed  branchlets 
and  twigs,  densely  set  with  small,  round  leaves, 
dark,  dull  green,  and  tough  as  parchment.  One 
could  only  suppose  that  thorn  and  ivy  had  been 
partners  from  the  beginning  of  life,  and  that  the; 
union  was  equally  advantageous  to  both. 

The  small  ivy  disk,  or  platform,  on  top  of  the 
tree  was  a  favourite  stand  and  look-out  for  the 
downland  birds.  I  seldom  visited  the  spot  with- 
out disturbing  some  of  them,  now  a  little  com- 
pany of  missel-thrushes,  now  a  crowd  of  star- 
lings, then  perhaps  a  dozen  rooks,  crowded  to- 
gether, looking  very  big  and  conspicuous  on 
their  little  platform. 

Being  curious  to  find  out  something  about  the 
age  of  the  tree,  I  determined  to  put  the  question 
to  my  old  friend,  Malachi,  aged  eighty-nine, 
who  was  born  and  had  always  lived  in  the  par- 
ish, and  had  known  the  downs,  and  probably 
every  tree  growing  on  them  for  miles  around, 
from  his  earliest  years.  It  was  my  custom  to 
drop  in  of  an  evening  and  sit  with  him,  listening 
to  his  endless  reminiscences  of  his  young  days. 


AN  OLD  THORN  141 

That  evening  I  spoke  of  the  thorn,  describing  its 
position  and  appearance,  thinking  that  perhaps 
he  had  forgotten  it.  How  long,  I  asked  him, 
had  the  thorn  been  there? 

He  was  one  of  those  men,  usually  of  the 
labouring  class,  to  be  met  with  in  such  lonely, 
out-of-the-world  places  as  the  Wiltshire  Downs, 
whose  eyes  never  look  old,  however  many  their 
years  may  be,  and  are  more  like  the  eyes  of  a 
bird  or  animal  than  a  human  being,  for  they 
gaze  at  you  and  through  you  when  you  speak, 
without  appearing  to  know  what  you  say.  So  it 
was  on  this  occasion.  He  looked  straight  at  me 
with  no  sign  of  understanding,  no  change  in  his 
clear,  grey  eyes,  and  answered  nothing.  But  I 
would  not  be  put  off,  and  when,  raising  my  voice, 
I  repeated  the  question,  he  replied,  after  another 
interval  of  silence,  that  the  thorn  "was  never  any 
different."  'Twas  just  the  same,  ivy  and  all, 
when  he  were  a  small  boy.  It  looked  just  so  old. 
Why,  he  remembered  his  father  saying  the  same 
thing — 'twas  the  same  when  he  were  a  boy,  and 
'twas  the  same  in  his  father's  time.  Then, 
anxious  to  escape  from  the  subject,  he  began 
talking  of  something  else. 


142  DEAD  MAN'S   PLACK 

It  struck  me  that,  after  all,  the  most  interest- 
ing thing  about  the  thorn  was  its  appearance  of 
great  age,  and  this  aspect  I  had  now  been  told 
had  continued  for  at  least  a  century,  probably  for 
a  much  longer  time.  It  produced  a  reverent 
feeling  in  me,  such  as  we  experience  at  the  sight 
of  some  ancient  stone  monument.  But  the  tree 
was  alive,  and  because  of  its  life,  the  feeling  was 
perhaps  stronger  than  in  the  case  of  a  granite 
cross  or  cromlech  or  other  memorial  of  an- 
tiquity. 

Sitting  by  the  thorn  one  day,  it  occurred  to  me 
that,  growing  at  this  spot  close  to  the  road  and 
near  the  summit  of  that  vast  down,  numberless 
persons  travelling  to  and  from  Salisbury  must 
have  turned  aside  to  rest  on  the  turf  in  the  shade 
after  that  laborious  ascent,  or  before  beginning 
the  long  descent  to  the  valley  below.  Travellers 
of  all  conditions,  on  foot  or  horseback,  in  carts 
and  carriages,  merchants,  bagmen,  farmers, 
drovers,  gipsies,  tramps  and  vagrants  of  all 
descriptions,  and,  from  time  to  time,  troops  of 
soldiers.  Yet  never  one  of  them  had  injured  the 
tree  in  any  way!  I  could  not  remember  ever 
finding  a  tree  growing  alone  by  the  roadside  in 


AN  OLD  THORN  143 

a  lonely  place,  which  had  not  the  marks  of  many 
old  and  new  wounds  inflicted  on  its  trunk  with 
knives,  hatchets,  and  other  implements.  Here, 
not  a  mark,  not  a  scratch  had  been  made  on  any 
one  of  its  four  trunks,  or  on  the  ivy  stem,  by  any 
thoughtless  or  mischievous  person,  nor  had  any 
branch  been  cut  or  broken  off.  Why  had  they, 
one  and  all,  respected  this  tree? 

It  was  another  subject  to  talk  to  Malachi 
about  and  to  him  I  went  after  tea,  and  found  him 
with  three  of  his  neighbours,  sitting  by  the  fire 
and  talking;  for  though  it  was  summer,  the  old 
man  always  had  a  fire  in  the  evening. 

They  wxlcomed  and  m.ade  room  for  me,  but  I 
had  no  sooner  broached  the  subject  in  my  mind, 
than  they  all  fell  into  silence,  then,  after  a  brief 
interval,  the  three  callers  began  to  discuss  some 
little  village  matter.  I  was  not  going  to  be  put 
off  in  that  way,  and,  leaving  them  out,  went  on 
talking  to  Malachi  about  the  tree.  Presently, 
one  by  one,  the  three  visitors  got  up  and,  re- 
marking that  it  was  time  to  be  going,  they  took 
their  departure. 

The  old  man  could  not  escape,  nor  avoid 
listening,  and  in  the  end,  had  to  say  something. 


144  DEAD  MAN'S  PLACK 

He  said  he  didn't  know  nothing  about  all  them 
tramps  and  gipsies  and  other  sorts  of  men  who 
had  sat  by  the  tree;  all  he  knowed  was  that  the 
old  thorn  had  been  a  good  thorn  to  him — first 
and  last.  He  remembered  once,  when  he  was  a 
young  man,  not  yet  twenty,  he  went  to  do  some 
work  at  a  village  five  miles  away,  and  being 
winter  time,  he  left  early,  about  four  o'clock,  to 
walk  home  over  the  downs.  He  had  just  got 
married,  and  had  promised  his  wife  to  be  home 
for  tea  at  six  o'clock.  But  a  thick  fog  came  up 
over  the  downs,  and  soon  as  it  got  dark,  he  lost 
himself.  'Twas  the  darkest,  thickest  night  he 
had  ever  been  out  in;  and  whenever  he  came 
against  a  bank  or  other  obstruction,  he  would 
get  down  on  his  hands  and  knees  and  feel  it  up 
and  down  to  get  its  shape  and  find  out  what  it 
was,  for  he  knew  all  the  marks  on  his  native 
downs.  'Twas  all  in  vain — nothing  could  he 
recognise.  In  this  way  he  wandered  about  for 
hours,  and  was  in  despair  of  getting  home  that 
night,  when  all  at  once  there  came  a  sense  of 
relief,  a  feeling  that  it  was  all  right,  that  some- 
thing was  guiding  him. 

I  remarked  that  I  knew  what  that  meant:  he 


AN  OLD  THORN  145 

had  lost  his  sense  of  direction,  and  had  now,  all 
at  once,  recovered  it.  Such  a  thing  had  often 
happened.  I  once  had  such  an  experience  my- 
self. 

No,  it  was  not  that,  he  returned.  He  had  not 
'gone  a  dozen  steps  from  the  moment  that  sense 
of  confidence  came  to  him,  before  he  ran  into  a 
tree,  and  feeling  the  trunk  with  his  hands,  he 
recognised  it  as  the  old  thorn,  and  knew  where 
he  was.  In  a  couple  of  minutes  he  was  on  the 
road,  and  in  less  than  an  hour,  just  about  mid- 
night, he  was  safe  at  home. 

No  more  could  I  get  out  of  him,  at  all  events 
on  that  occasion;  nor  did  I  ever  succeed  in  ex- 
tracting any  further  personal  experience,  in  spite 
of  his  having  let  out  that  the  thorn  had  been  a 
good  thorn  to  him,  first  and  last.  I  had,  how- 
ever, heard  enough  to  satisfy  me  that  I  had  at 
length  discovered  the  real  secret  of  the  tree's  fas- 
cination. I  recalled  other  trees  which  had  sim- 
ilarly affected  me,  and  how,  long  years  ago,  when 
a  good  deal  of  my  time  was  spent  on  horseback, 
whenever  I  found  myself  in  a  certain  district,  I 
would  go  miles  out  of  my  way  just  to  look  at  a 
solitary  old  tree,  growing  in  a  lonely  place,  and 


146  DEAD  MAN'S  PLACK 

to  sit  for  an  hour  to  refresh  myself,  body  and 
soul,  in  its  shade.  I  had,  indeed,  all  along  sus- 
pected the  thorn  of  being  one  of  this  order  of 
mysterious  trees;  and  from  other  experiences  I 
had  met  with,  one  some  years  ago  in  a  village  in 
this  same  county  of  Wilts,  I  had  formed  the 
opinion  that  in  many  persons  the  sense  of  a 
strange  intelligence  and  possibility  of  power  in 
,such  trees  is  not  a  mere  transitory  state,  but  an 
enduring  influence  which  profoundly  aflfects 
their  whole  lives. 

Determined  to  find  out  something  more,  I 
went  to  other  villagers,  mostly  women,  who  are 
more  easily  disarmed  and  made  to  believe  that 
you,  too,  know,  and  are  of  the  same  mind  with 
them,  being  under  the  same  mysterious  power 
and  spell.  In  this  way,  laying  many  a  subtle 
snare,  I  succeeded  in  eliciting  a  good  deal  of  in- 
formation. It  was,  however,  mostly  of  a  kind 
which  could  not  profitably  be  used  in  any  in- 
quiry into  the  subject;  it  simply  went  to  show 
that  the  feeling  existed,  and  was  strong  in  many 
of  the  villagers.  During  this  inquiry,  I  picked 
up  several  anecdotes  about  a  person  who  lived  in 
Ingden  close  upon  three  generations  ago,  and 


AN  OLD  THORN  147 

was  able  to  piece  them  together  so  as  to  make  a 
consistent  narrative  of  his  life.  This  was 
Johnnie  Budd,  a  farm  labourer,  who  came  to  his 
end  in  1821,  a  year  or  so  before  my  old  friend, 
Malachi,  was  born.  It  is  going  very  far  back, 
but  there  were  circumstances  in  his  life  which 
made  a  deep  impression  on  the  mind  of  that 
little  community,  and  the  story  had  lived  on 
through  all  these  years. 


II 


Johnnie  had  fallen  on  hard  times,  when,  in 
an  exceptionally  severe  winter  season,  he,  with 
others,  had  been  thrown  out  of  employment  at 
the  farm  where  he  worked.  Then,  with  a  wife 
and  three  small  children  to  keep,  he  had,  in  his 
desperation,  procured  food  for  them  one  dark 
night  in  an  adjacent  field.  But,  alas!  one  of  the 
little  ones  playing  in  the  road  with  some  of  her 
companions,  who  were  all  very  hungry,  let  it  out 
that  she  wasn't  hungry,  that  for  three  days  she 
had  had  as  much  nice  meat  as  she  wanted  to  eat! 
Play  over,  the  hungry  little  ones  flew  home  to 
tell  their  parents  the  wonderful  news.  Why 
didn't  they  have  nice  meat  like  Tilly  Budd,  in- 
stead of  a  piece  of  rye  bread  without  even  drip- 
ping on  it,  when  they  were  so  hungry?  Much 
talk  followed,  and  spread  from  cottage  to  cot- 
tage, until  it  reached  the  constable's  ears,  and  he, 
already  informed  of  the  loss  of  a  wether  taken 
from  its  fold  close  by,  went  straight  to  Johnnie 
and  charged  him  with  the  offence.    Johnnie  lost 

148 


AN  OLD  THORN  i49 

his  head,  and  dropping  on  his  knees,  confessed 
his  guilt  and  begged  his  old  friend,  Lampard, 
to  have  mercy  on  him  and  to  overlook  it  for  the 
sake  of  his  wife  and  children. 

It  was  his  first  offence,  but  when  he  was  taken 
from  the  lock-up  at  the  top  of  the  village  street 
to  be  conveyed  to  Salisbury,  his  friends  and 
neighbours,  who  had  gathered  at  the  spot  to  wit- 
ness his  removal,  shook  their  heads  and  doubted 
that  Ingden  would  ever  see  him  again.  The 
confession  had  made  the  case  so  simple  a  one, 
that  he  had  at  once  been  committed  to  take  his 
trial  at  the  Salisbury  Assizes,  and  as  the  time  was 
near,  the  constable  had  been  ordered  to  convey 
the  prisoner  to  the  town  himself.  Accordingly 
he  engaged  old  Joe  Blaskett,  called  Daddy  in  the 
village,  to  take  them  in  his  pony  cart.  Daddy 
did  not  want  the  job,  but  was  talked  or  bullied 
into  it,  and  there  he  now  sat  in  his  cart,  waiting 
in  glum  silence  for  his  passengers — a  bent  old 
man  of  eighty,  with  a  lean,  grey,  bitter  face,  in 
his  rusty  cloak,  his  old  rabbit-skin  cap  drawn 
down  over  his  ears,  his  white,  disorderly  beard 
scattered  over  his  chest.  The  constable,  Lam- 
pard, was  a  big,  powerful  man,  with  a  great, 


I50  DEAD  MAN'S  PLACK 

round,  good-natured  face;  but  just  now  he  had 
a  strong  sense  of  responsibility,  and  to  make  sure 
of  not  losing  his  prisoner,  he  handcuffed  him  be- 
fore bringing  him  out  and  helping  him  to  take 
his  seat  on  the  bottom  of  the  cart.  Then  he  got 
up  himself  to  his  seat  by  the  driver's  side.  The 
last  good-bye  was  spoken,  the  weeping  wife  be- 
ing gently  led  away  by  her  friends,  and  the  cart 
rattled  away  down  the  street.  Turning  into  the 
Salisbury  road  it  was  soon  out  of  sight  over  the 
near  down,  but  half-an-hour  later  it  emerged 
once  more  into  sight  beyond  the  great  dip,  and 
the  villagers  who  had  remained  standing  about 
at  the  same  spot  watched  it  crawling  like  a 
beetle  up  the  long  white  road  on  the  slope  of  the 
vast  down  beyond. 

Johnnie  was  now  lying  coiled  up  on  his  rug, 
his  face  hidden  between  his  arms,  abandoned 
to  grief,  sobbing  aloud.  Lampard,  sitting 
athwart  the  seat  so  as  to  keep  an  eye  on  him, 
burst  out  at  last:  ''Be  a  man,  Johnnie,  and  stop 
your  crying!  'Tis  making  things  no  better  by 
taking  on  like  that.    What  do  you  say.  Daddy?" 

"I  say  nought,"  snapped  the  old  man,  and  for 
a  while  they  proceeded  in  silence  except  for 


AN  OLD  THORN  151 

those  heartrending  sobs.  As  they  approached 
the  old  thorn  tree,  near  the  top  of  the  long  slope, 
Johnnie  grew  more  and  more  agitated,  his  whole 
frame  shaking  with  his  sobbing.  Again  the 
constable  rebuked  him,  telling  him  that  'twas  a 
shame  for  a  man  to  go  on  like  that.  Then  with 
an  effort  he  restrained  his  sobs,  and  lifting  a  red, 
swollen,  tear-stained  face,  he  stammered  out: 
"Master  Lampard,  did  I  ever  ask  'ee  a  favour  in 
my  life?" 

"What  be  after  now?"  said  the  other  sus- 
piciously. "Well,  no,  Johnnie,  not  as  I  remem- 
ber." 

"An'  do  'ee  think  I'll  ever  come  back  home 
again,  Master  Lampard?" 

"Maybe,  no — maybe,  yes;  'tis  not  for  me  to 
say." 

"But  'ee  knows  'tis  a  hanging  matter?" 

"  'Tis  that,  for  sure.  But  you  be  a  young  man 
with  a  wife  and  childer,  and  have  never  done  no 
wrong  before — not  that  I  ever  heard  say.  Maybe 
the  judge'U  recommend  you  to  mercy.  What  do 
you  say.  Daddy?" 

The  old  man  only  made  some  inarticulate 
sounds  in  his  beard,  without  turning  his  head. 


152  DEAD  MAN'S  PLACK 

''But,  Master  Lampard,  suppose  I  don't 
swing,  they'll  send  I  over  the  water  and  I'll 
never  see  the  wife  and  children  no  more." 

''Maybe  so;  I'm  thinking  that's  how  'twill  be." 

"Then  will  'ee  do  me  a  kindness?  'Tis  the 
only  one  I  ever  asked  'ee,  and  there'll  be  no 
chance  to  ask  'ee  another." 

"I  can't  say,  Johnnie,  not  till  I  know  what  'tis 
you  want." 

"  'Tis  only  this.  Master  Lampard.  When  w& 
git  to  th'  old  thorn  let  me  out  o'  the  cart  and  let 
me  stand  under  it  one  minnit  and  no  more." 

"Be  you  wanting  to  hang  yourself  before  the 
trial,  then?"  said  the  constable,  trying  to  make  a 
joke  of  it. 

"I  couldn't  do  that,"  said  Johnnie,  simply, 
"seeing  my  hands  be  fast  and  you'd  be  standing 
by." 

"No,  no,  Johnnie.  'Tis  nought  but  just  fool- 
ishness.   What  do  you  say,  Daddy?" 

The  old  man  turned  round  with  a  look  of  sud- 
den rage  in  his  grey  face  which  startled  Lam- 
pard; but  he  said  nothing,  he  only  opened  and 
shut  his  mouth  two  or  three  times  without  a 
sound. 


AN  OLD  THORN  153 

Meanwhile  the  pony  had  been  going  slower 
and  slower  for  the  last  thirty  or  forty  yards,  and 
now  when  they  were  abreast  of  the  tree  stood 
still. 

"What  be  stopping  for?"  cried  Lampard. 
"Get  on — get  on,  or  we'll  never  get  to  Salisbury 
this  day." 

Then  at  length  old  Blaskett  found  a  voice. 

"Does  thee  know  what  thee's  saying,  Master 
Lampard,  or  be  thee  a  stranger  to  this  parish?" 

"What  d'ye  mean,  Daddy?  I  be  no  stranger. 
I've  a  known  this  parish  and  known  'ee  these 
nine  years." 

"Thee  asked  why  I  stopped  when  'twas  the 
pony  stopped,  knowing  where  we'd  got  to.  But 
thee's  not  born  here,  or  thee'd  a  known  what  a 
boss  knows.  An'  since  'ee  asks  what  I  says,  I 
says  this :  'Twill  not  hurt  'ee  to  let  Johnnie  Budd 
stand  one  minute  by  the  tree." 

Feeling  insulted  and  puzzled,  the  constable 
was  about  to  assert  his  authority  when  he  was 
arrested  by  Johnnie's  cry:  "Oh,  Master  Lam- 
pard, 'tis  my  last  hope!"  and  by  the  sight  of 
the  agony  of  suspense  on  his  swollen  face,  after  a 
short  hesitation,  he  swung  himself  out  over  the 


154  DEAD  MAN'S  PLACK 

side  of  the  cart,  and  letting  down  the  tailboard, 
laid  rough  hands  on  Johnnie  and  half-helped, 
half-dragged  him  out. 

They  were  quickly  by  the  tree,  where  Johnnie 
stood  silent  with  downcast  eyes  a  few  moments, 
then  dropping  upon  his  knees  leant  his  face 
against  the  bark,  his  eyes  closed,  his  lips  mur- 
muring. 

'Time's  up,"  cried  Lampard  presently,  and 
taking  him  by  the  collar  pulled  him  to  his  feet; 
in  a  couple  of  minutes  more  they  were  in  the 
cart  and  on  their  way. 

It  was  grey  weather,  very  cold,  with  an  east 
wind  blowing,  but  for  the  rest  of  that  dreary 
thirteen  miles  journey,  Johnnie  was  very  quiet 
and  submissive  and  shed  no  more  tears. 


Ill 


What  had  been  his  motive  in  wishing  to  stand 
by  the  tree?  What  did  he  expect  when  he  said 
it  was  his  last  hope?  During  the  way  up  the 
long,  laborious  slope,  an  incident  of  his  early 
years  in  connection  with  the  tree  had  been  in  his 
mind,  and  had  wrought  on  him  until  it  culmi- 
nated in  that  passionate  outburst  and  his  strange 
request.  It  was  when  he  was  a  boy  not  quite  ten 
years  old,  that  one  afternoon  in  the  summer- 
time he  went  with  other  children  to  look  for  wild 
raspberries  on  the  summit  of  the  great  down. 
Johnnie,  being  the  eldest,  was  the  leader  of  the 
little  band.  On  the  way  back  from  the  brambly 
place  where  the  fruit  grew,  on  approaching  the 
thorn,  they  spied  a  number  of  rooks  sitting  on  it, 
and  it  came  into  Johnnie's  mind  that  it  would  be 
great  fun  to  play  at  crows  by  sitting  on  the 
branches  as  near  the  top  as  they  could  get.  Run- 
ning on,  with  cries  that  sent  the  rooks  cawing 
away,  they  began  swarming  up  the  trunks,  but  in 
the  midst  of  their  frolic,  when  they  were  all 

155 


IS6  DEAD  MAN'S   PLACK 

struggling  for  the  best  places  on  the  branches, 
they  were  startled  by  a  shout,  and  looking  up  on 
the  top  of  the  down  saw  a  man  on  horseback 
coming  towards  them  at  a  gallop,  shaking  a 
whip  in  anger  as  he  rode.  Instantly  they  began 
scrambling  down,  falling  over  each  other  in 
their  haste,  then,  picking  themselves  up,  set  off 
down  the  slope  as  fast  as  they  could  run.  John- 
nie was  foremost,  while  close  behind  him  came 
Marty,  who  was  nearly  the  same  age  and,  though 
a  girl,  almost  as  swift-footed,  but  before  going 
fifty  yards,  she  struck  her  foot  against  an  ant-hill 
and  was  thrown  violently,  face  down,  on  the  turf. 
Johnnie  turned  at  her  cry  and  flew  back  to  help 
her  up,  but  the  shock  of  the  fall  and  her  extreme 
terror  had  deprived  her  for  the  moment  of  all 
strength,  and  while  he  struggled  to  raise  her  the 
smaller  children  one  by  one  overtook  and  passed 
them,  and  in  another  moment  the  man  was  ofif  his 
horse,  standing  over  them. 

"Do  you  want  a  good  thrashing?"  he  said, 
grasping  Johnnie  by  the  collar. 

"Oh,  sir,  please  don't  hit  me!"  answered  John- 
nie; then  looking  up,  he  was  astonished  to  see 
that  his  captor  was  not  the  stern  old  farmer,  the 


AN  OLD  THORN  157 

tenant  of  the  down,  he  had  taken  him  for,  but  a 
stranger  and  a  strange-looking  man,  in  a  dark 
grey  cloak  with  a  red  collar;  he  had  a  pointed 
beard  and  long  black  hair  and  dark  eyes  that 
were  not  evil,  yet  frightened  Johnnie  when  he 
caught  them  gazing  down  on  him. 

"No,  ril  not  thrash  you,"  said  he,  "because 
you  stayed  to  help  the  little  maiden;  but  I'll  tell 
you  something  for  your  good  about  the  tree  you 
and  your  little  mates  have  been  climbing,  bruis- 
ing the  bark  with  your  heels  and  breaking  ofif 
leaves  and  twigs.  Do  you  know,  boy,  that  if  you 
hurt  it,  it  will  hurt  you?  It  stands  fast  here  with 
its  roots  in  the  ground  and  you — you  can  go 
away  from  it,  you  think.  'Tis  not  so — something 
will  come  out  of  it  and  follow  you  wherever  you 
go  and  hurt  and  break  you  at  last.  But  if  you 
make  it  a  friend  and  care  for  it,  it  will  care  for 
you  and  give  you  happiness  and  deliver  you  from 
evil." 

Then  touching  Johnnie's  cheek  with  his 
gloved  hand,  he  got  on  his  horse  and  rode  away, 
and  no  sooner  was  he  gone  than  Marty  started 
up,  and  hand-in-hand  the  two  children  set  off  at 
a  run  down  the  long  slope. 


158  DEAD  MAN'S  PLACK 

Johnnie's  playtime  was  nearly  over  then,  for 
by  and  by  he  was  taken  as  farmer's  boy  at  one  of 
the  village  farms.  When  he  was  nineteen  years 
old,  one  Sunday  evening  when  standing  in  the 
road  with  other  young  people  of  the  village — 
youths  and  girls,  it  was  powerfully  borne  on  his 
mind  that  his  old  playmate  Marty  was  not  only 
the  prettiest  and  best  girl  in  the  place,  but  that 
she  had  something  which  set  her  apart  and  far, 
far  above  all  other  women.  For  now,  after  hav- 
ing known  her  intimately  from  his  first  years,  he 
had  suddenly  fallen  in  love  with  her,  a  feeling 
which  caused  him  to  shiver  in  a  kind  of  ecstasy, 
yet  made  him  miserable  since  it  had  purged  his 
sight  and  made  him  see,  too,  how  far  apart  they 
were  and  how  hopeless  his  case.  It  was  true  they 
had  been  comrades  from  childhood,  fond  of  each 
other,  but  she  had  grown  and  developed  until 
she  had  become  that  most  bright  and  lovely  be- 
ing, while  he  had  remained  the  same  slow- 
witted,  awkward,  almost  inarticulate  Johnnie  he 
had  always  been.  This  feeling  preyed  on  his 
poor  mind,  and  when  he  joined  the  evening 
gathering  in  the  village  street  he  noted  bitterly 
how  contemptuously  he  was  left  out  of  the  con- 


AN  OLD  THORN  159 

versation  by  the  others,  how  incapable  he  was  of 
keeping  pace  with  them  in  their  laughing  talk 
and  banter.  And,  worst  of  all,  how  Marty  was 
the  leading  spirit,  bandying  words  and  bestow- 
ing smiles  and  pleasantries  all  round,  but  never 
a  word  or  a  smile  for  him.  He  could  not  endure 
it,  and  so  instead  of  smartening  himself  up  after 
work  and  going  for  company  to  the  village 
street,  he  would  walk  down  the  secluded  lane 
near  the  farm  to  spend  the  hour  before  supper 
and  bedtime*  sitting  on  a  gate,  brooding  on  his 
misery;  and  if  by  chance  he  met  Marty  in  the 
village  he  would  try  to  avoid  her  and  was  silent 
and  uncomfortable  in  her  presence. 

After  work  one  hot  summer  evening,  Johnnie 
was  walking  along  the  road  near  the  farm  in  his 
working  clothes,  clay-coloured  boots  and  old 
dusty  hat,  when  who  should  he  see  but  Marty 
coming  towards  him,  looking  very  sweet  and 
fresh  in  her  light-coloured  print  gown.  He 
looked  to  this  side  and  that  for  some  friendly  gap 
or  opening  in  the  hedge  so  as  to  take  himself  out 
of  the  road,  but  there  was  no  way  of  escape  at 
that  spot,  and  he  had  to  pass  her,  and  so  casting 
down  his  eyes  he  walked  on,  wishing  he  could 


i6o  DEAD  MAN'S  PLACK 

sink  into  the  earth  out  of  her  sight.  But  she 
would  not  allow  him  to  pass;  she  put  herself 
directly  in  his  way  and  spoke. 

"What's  the  matter  with  'ee,  Johnnie,  that  'ee 
don't  want  to  meet  me  and  hardly  say  a  word 
when  I  speak  to  'ee?" 

He  could  not  find  a  word  in  reply:  he  stood 
still,  his  face  crimson,  his  eyes  on  the  ground. 

"Johnnie,  dear,  what  is  it?"  she  asked,  coming 
closer  and  putting  her  hand  on  his  arm. 

Then  he  looked  up  and  seeing  the  sweet  com- 
passion in  her  eyes,  he  could  no  longer  keep  the 
secret  of  his  pain  from  her. 

"  'Tis  'ee,  Marty,"  he  said.  "Thee'll  never 
want  I — there's  others  'ee'U  like  better.  'Tisn't 
for  I  to  say  a  word  about  that,  I'm  thinking,  for 
I  be — just  nothing.  An' — an' — I  be  going  away 
from  the  village,  Marty,  and  I'll  never  come 
back  no  more." 

"Oh,  Johnnie,  don't  'ee  say  it!  Would  'ee  go 
and  break  my  heart?  Don't  'ee  know  I've  always 
loved  'ee  since  we  were  little  mites  together?" 

And  thus  it  came  about  that  Johnnie,  most 
miserable  of  men,  was  all  at  once  made  happy 
beyond  his  wildest  dreams.    And  he  proved  him- 


AN  OLD  THORN  i6i 

self  worthy  of  her;  from  that  time  there  was  not 
a  more  diligent  and  sober  young  labourer  in  the 
village,  nor  one  of  a  more  cheerful  disposition, 
nor  more  careful  of  his  personal  appearance 
when,  the  day's  work  done,  the  young  people 
had  their  hour  of  social  intercourse  and  court- 
ing. Yet  he  was  able  to  put  by  a  portion  of  his 
weekly  wages  of  six  shillings  to  buy  sticks  so  that 
when  spring  came  round  again  he  was  able  to 
marry  and  take  Marty  to  live  with  him  in  his 
own  cottage. 

One  Sunday  afternoon,  shortly  after  this 
happy  event,  they  went  out  for  a  walk  on  the 
high  down. 

"Oh,  Johnnie,  'tis  a  long  time  since  we  were 
here  together,  not  since  we  used  to  come  and 
play  and  look  for  cowslips  when  we  were  little." 

Johnnie  laughed  with  pure  joy  and  said  they 
would  just  be  children  and  play  again,  now  they 
were  alone  and  out  of  sight  of  the  village.  And 
when  she  smiled  up  at  him  he  rejoiced  to  think 
that  his  union  with  this  perfect  girl  was  pro- 
ducing a  happy  effect  on  his  poor  brains,  making 
him  as  bright  and  ready  with  a  good  reply  as 
anyone.    And  in  their  happiness  they  played  at 


i62  DEAD  MAN'S  PLACK 

being  children  just  as  in  the  old  days  they  had 
played  at  being  grown-ups.  Casting  themselves 
down  on  the  green,  elastic,  flower-sprinkled  turf, 
they  rolled  one  after  the  other  down  the  smooth 
slopes  of  the  terrace,  the  old  "shepherd's  steps," 
and  by  and  by  Johnnie,  coming  upon  a  patch  of 
creeping  thyme,  rubbed  his  hands  in  the  pale 
purple  flowers,  then  rubbed  her  face  to  make  it 
fragrant. 

"Oh,  'tis  sweet!"  she  cried.  "Did  'ee  ever  see 
so  many  little  flowers  on  the  down?  'Tis  as  if 
they  came  out  just  for  us."  Then  indicating  the 
tiny  milkwort  faintly  sprinkling  the  turf  all 
about  them,  "Oh,  the  little  blue  darlings!  Did 
'ee  ever  see  such  a  dear  blue!" 

"Oh,  aye,  a  prettier  blue  nor  that,"  said  John- 
nie. "  'Tis  just  here,  Marty,"  and  pressing  her 
down  he  kissed  her  on  the  eyelids  a  dozen  times. 

"You  silly  Johnnie!" 

"Be  I  silly,  Marty?  But  I  love  the  red,  too," 
and  with  that  he  kissed  her  on  the  mouth.  "And, 
Marty,  I  do  love  the  red  on  the  breasties,  too — 
v^on't  'ee  let  me  have  just  one  kiss  there?" 

And  she,  to  please  him,  opened  her  dress  a 
little  way,  but  blushingly,  though  she  was  his 


AN  OLD  THORN  163 

« 

wife  and  nobody  was  there  to  see,  but  it  seemed 
strange  to  her  out  of  doors  with  the  sun  over- 
head. Oh,  'twas  all  delicious!  Never  was  earth 
so  heavenly  sweet  as  on  that  wide  green  down, 
sprinkled  with  innumerable  little  flowers,  under 
the  wide  blue  sky,  and  the  all-illuminating  sun 
that  shone  into  their  hearts! 

At  length,  rising  to  her  knees  and  looking  up 
the  green  slope,  she  cried  out:  "Oh,  Johnnie, 
there's  the  old  thorn  tree!  Do  'ee  remember 
when  we  played  at  crows  on  it  and  had  such  a 
fright?  'Twas  the  last  time  we  came  here  to- 
gether. Come,  let's  go  to  the  old  tree  and  see 
how  it  looks  now." 

Johnnie  all  at  once  became  grave,  and  said 
No,  he  wouldn't  go  to  it  for  anything.  She  was 
curious  and  made  him  tell  her  the  reason.  He 
had  never  forgotten  that  day  and  the  fear  that 
came  into  his  mind  on  .account  of  the  words  the 
strange  man  had  spoken.  She  didn't  know  what 
the  words  were :  she  had  been  too  frightened  to 
listen,  and  so  he  had  to  tell  her. 

"Then,  'tis  a  wishing-tree,  for  sure,"  Marty 
exclaimed.  When  he  asked  her  what  a  wishing- 
tree  was,  she  could  only  say  that  her  old  grand- 


i64  DEAD  MAN'S  PLACK 

mother,  now  dead,  had  told  her.  'Tis  a  tree  that 
knows  us  and  can  do  us  good  and  harm,  but  will 
do  good  only  to  some.  But  they  must  go  to  it  and 
ask  for  its  protection,  and  they  must  offer  it 
something  as  well  as  pray  to  it.  It  must  be  some- 
thing bright — a  little  jewel  or  coloured  bead  is 
best,  and  if  you  haven't  got  such  a  thing,  a 
bright-coloured  .ribbon,  or  strip  of  scarlet  cloth 
or  silk  thread  which  you  must  tie  to  one  of  the 
twigs. 

''But  we  hurted  the  tree.  Marty,  and  'twill  do 
no  good  to  we." 

They  were  both  grave  now;  then  a  hopeful 
thought  came  to  her  aid.  They  had  not  hurt  the 
tree  intentionally:  the  tree  knew  that — it  knew 
more  than  any  human 'being.  They  might  go 
and  stand  side  by  side  under  its  branches  and 
ask  it  to  forgive  them,  and  grant  them  all  their 
desires.  But  they  must  not  go  empty-handed, 
they  must  have  some  bright  thing  with  them 
when  making  their  prayer.  Then  she  had  a 
fresh  inspiration.  She  would  take  a  lock  of  her 
own  bright  hair  and  braid  it  with  some  of  his, 
and  tie  it  with  a  piece  of  scarlet  thread. 

Johnnie  was  pleased  with  this  idea,  and  they 


AN  OLD  THORN  165 

agreed  to  take  another  Sunday  afternoon  walk 
and  carry  out  their  plan. 

The  projected  walk  was  never  taken,  for  by 
and  by  Marty's  mother  fell  ill  and  Marty  had  to 
be  with  her,  nursing  her  night  and  day,  and 
months  went  by,  and  at  length  when  her  mother 
died  she  was  not  in  a  fit  condition  to  go  long 
walks  and  climb  those  long  steep  slopes.  After 
the  child  was  born  it  was  harder  than  ever  to 
leave  the  house,  and  Johnnie,  too,  had  so  much 
work  at  the  farm  that  he  had  little  inclination  to 
go  out  on  Sundays.  They  ceased  to  speak  of  the 
tree,  and  their  long-projected  pilgrimage  was 
impracticable  until  they  could  see  better  days. 
But  the  wished  time  never  came,  for  after  the 
first  child,  Marty  was  never  strong ;  then  a  second 
child  came,  then  a  third,  and  so  five  years  went 
by  of  toil  and  suffering  and  love,  and  the  tree, 
with  all  their  hopes  and  fears  and  intentions  re- 
garding it,  was  less  and  less  in  their  minds  and 
was  all  but  forgotten.  Only  Johnnie,  when  at 
long  intervals  his  master  sent  him  to  Salisbury 
v.'ith  the  cart,  remembered  it  all  only  too  well 
when,  coming  to  the  top  of  the  down,  he  saw  the 
old  thorn  directly  before  him.     Passing  it,  he 


i66  DEAD  MAN'S  PLACK 

would  turn  his  face  away  not  to  see  it-too  closely, 
or  perhaps  to  avoid  being  recognised  by  it. 
Then  came  the  time  of  their  extreme  poverty, 
when  there  was  no  work  at  the  farm  and  no  one 
of  their  own  people  to  help  tide  them  over  a 
season  of -scarcity,  for  the  old  people  were  dead, 
or  in  the  workhouse,  or  so  poor  as  to  want  help 
themselves.  It  was  then  that  in  his  misery  at  the 
sight  of  his  ailing,  anxious  wife — the  dear  Marty 
of  the  beautiful  vanished  days — and  his  three 
little  hungry  children,  that  he  went  out  into  the 
field  one  dark  night  to  get  them  food. 

The  whole  sad  history  was  in  his  mind  as  they 
slowly  crawled  up  the  hill,  until  it  came  to  him 
that  perhaps  all  their  sufferings  and  this  great 
disaster  had  been  caused  by  the  tree — by  that 
something  from  the  tree  which  had  followed 
him,  never  resting  in  its  mysterious  enmity,  until 
it  broke  him.  Was  it  too  late  to  repair  that  ter- 
rible mistake?  A  gleam  of  hope  shone  on  his 
darkened  mind,  and  he  made  his  passionate  ap- 
peal to  the  constable.  He  had  no  offering — his 
hands  were  powerless  now;  but  at  least,  he  could 
stand  by  it  and  touch  it  with  his  body  and  face 
and  pray  for  its  forgiveness  and  for  deliverance 


AN  OLD  THORN  167 

from  the  doom  which  threatened  him.  The  con- 
stable had  compassionately,  or  from  some  secret 
motive,  granted  his  request,  but  alas!  if  in  very 
truth  the  power  he  had  come  to  believe  in  re- 
sided in  the  tree  he  was  too  late  in  seeking  it. 


The  trial  was  soon  over.  By  pleading  guilty 
Johnnie  had  made  it  a  very  simple  matter  for 
the  court.  The  main  thing  was  to  sentence  him. 
By  an  unhappy  chance,  the  Judge  was  in  one  of 
his  occasional  bad  moods;  he  had  been  enter- 
tained too  well  by  one  of  the  local  magnates  on 
the  previous  evening,  and  had  sat  late,  drinking 
too  much  wine,  with  the  result  that  he  had  a  bad 
liver,  with  a  mind  to  match  it.  He  was  only  too 
ready  to  seize  the  first  opportunity  that  oflPered — 
and  poor  Johnnie's  case  was  the  first  that  morning 
— of  exercising  the  awful  power  a  barbarous  law 
had  put  into  his  hands.  When  the  prisoner's  de- 
fender declared  that  this  was  a  case  which  called 
loudly  for  mercy,  the  judge  interrupted  him  to 
say  that  he  was  taking  too  much  upon  himself, 
that  he  was  in  fact  instructing  the  judge  in  his 
duties,  which  was  a  piece  of  presumption  on  his 


i68  DEAD  MAN'S   PLACK 

part.  The  other  was  quick  to  make  a  humble 
apology  and  to  bring  his  perfunctory  address  to 
a  conclusion.  The  Judge,  in  addressing  the 
prisoner,  said  he  had  been  unable  to  discover  any 
extenuating  circumstances  in  the  case.  The  fact 
that  he  had  a  wife  and  family  dependent  on  him 
only  added  to  his  turpitude,  since  it  proved  that 
no  consideration  could  serve  to  deter  him  from  a 
criminal  act.  Furthermore,  in  dealing  with  this 
case,  he  must  take  into  account  the  prevalence  of 
this  particular  form  of  crime;  he  would  venture 
to  say  that  it  had  been  encouraged  by  an  extreme 
leniency  in  many  cases  on  the  part  of  those  whose 
sacred  duty  it  was  to  administer  the  law  of  the 
land.  A  sterner  and  healthier  spirit  was  called 
for  at  the  present  juncture.  The  time  had  come 
to  make  an  example,  and  a  more  suitable  case 
than  the  one  now  before  him  could  not  have  been 
found  for  such  a  purpose.  He  would  accord- 
ingly hold  out  no  hope  of  a  reprieve,  but  would 
counsel  prisoner  to  make  the  best  use  of  the  short 
time  remaining  to  him. 

Johnnie,  standing  in  the  dock,  appeared  to  the 
spectators  to  be  in  a  half-dazed  condition — as 
dull  and  spiritless  a  clod-hopper  as  they  had 


AN  OLD  THORN  169 

ever  beheld.  The  judge  and  barristers,  in  their 
wigs  and  robes  and  gowns,  were  unlike  any 
human  beings  he  had  ever  looked  on.  He  might 
have  been  transported  to  some  other  world,  so 
strange  did  the  whole  scene  appear  to  him.  He 
only  knew,  or  surmised,  that  all  these  important 
people  were  occupied  in  doing  him  to  death, 
but  the  process,  the  meaning  of  their  fine 
phrases,  he  could  not  follow.  He  looked  at  them, 
his  glazed  eyes  travelling  from  face  to  face  to  be 
fixed  finally  on  the  judge  in  a  vacant  stare;  but 
he  scarcely  saw  them,  he  was  all  the  time  gazing 
on,  and  his  mind  occupied  with  other  forms  and 
scenes  invisible  to  the  court.  His  village,  his 
Marty,  his  dear  little  playmate  of  long  ago,  the 
sweet  girl  he  had  won,  the  wife  and  mother  of 
his  children,  with  her  white,  terrified  face,  cling- 
ing to  him  and  crying  in  anguish:  "Oh,  Johnnie, 
what  will  they  do  to  'ee?"  And  all  the  time, 
with  it  all,  he  saw  the  vast  green  slope  of  the 
down  with  the  Salisbury  road  lying  like  a  nar- 
row white  band  across  it,  and  close  to  it,  near  the 
summit,  the  solitary  old  tree. 

During  the  delivery  of  the  sentence,  and  when 
he  was  led  from  the  dock  and  conveyed  back  to 


170  DEAD  MAN'S  PLACK 

the  prison,  that  image  or  vision  was  still  present. 
He  sat  staring  at  the  wall  of  his  cell  as  he  had 
stared  at  the  judge,  the  fatal  tree  still  before  him. 
Never  before  had  he  seen  it  in  that  vivid  way  in 
which  it  appeared  to  him  now,  standing  alone  on 
the  vast  green  down,  under  the  wide  sky,  its  four 
separate  boles  leaning  a  little  way  from  each 
other,  like  the  middle  ribs  of  an  open  fan,  hold- 
ing up  the  wide,  spread  branches,  the  thin  open 
foliage,    the   green   leaves   stained   with    rusty 
brown  and  purple,  and  the  ivy  rising  like  a 
slender  black  serpent  of  immense  length  spring- 
ing from  the  roots,  winding  upwards  and  in  and 
out  among  the  grey  branches,  binding  them  to- 
gether,  and  resting  its  round  dark  cluster  of 
massed  leaves  on   the  topmost  boughs.     That 
green  disk  was  the  ivy-serpent's  flat  head  and  was 
the  head  of  the  whole  tree,  and  there  it  had  its 
eyes  which  gazed  for  ever  over  the  wide  downs, 
watching  all  living  things,  cattle  and  sheep  and 
birds  and  men  in  their  comings  and  goings;  and 
although    fast-rooted    in    the    earth,    following 
them,  too,  in  all  their  ways,  even  as  it  had  fol- 
lowed him  to  break  him  at  last. 


POSTSCRIPT 


Dead  Man's  Plack 

/^NE  of  my  literary  friends  who  has  looked 
^"^  at  the  Dead  Man's  Plack  in  manuscript, 
has  said  by  way  of  criticism  that  Elfrida's  char- 
acter is  veiled.  I  am  not  to  blame  for  that,  for 
have  I  not  already  said,  by  implication  at  all 
events,  in  the  Preamble,  that  my  knowledge  of 
her  comes  from  outside.  Something,  or,  more 
likely.  Somebody,  gave  me  her  history,  and  it 
has  occurred  to  me  that  this  same  Somebody  was 
no  such  obscurity  as,  let  us  say,  the  Monk  John 
of  Glastonbury,  who  told  the  excavators  just 
where  to  look  for  the  buried  chapel  of  Edgar, 
king  and  saint.  I  suspect  that  my  informant 
was  someone  who  knew  more  about  Elf  rida  than 
any  mere  looker-on,  monk  or  nun,  and  gossip- 
gatherer  of  her  own  distant  day;  and  this  sus- 
picion or  surmise  was  suggested  by  the  follow- 
ing incident: 

173 


174  DEAD  MAN'S  PLACK 

After  haunting  Dead  Man's  Plack  where  I 
had  my  vision,  I  rambled  in  and  about  Wherwell 
on  account  of  its  association,  and  in  one  of  the 
cottages  in  the  village  I  became  acquainted  with 
an  elderly  widow,  a  woman  in  feeble  health  but 
singularly  attractive  in  her  person  and  manner. 
Indeed,  before  making  her  acquaintance  I  had 
been  informed  by  some  of  her  relations  and 
others  in  the  place  that  she  was  not  only  the  best 
person  to  seek  information  from,  but  was  also 
the  sweetest  person  in  the  village.  She  was  a 
native  born;  her  family  had  lived  there  for  gen- 
erations, and  she  was  one  of  that  best  South 
Hampshire  type  with  an  oval  face,  olive-brown 
skin,  black  eyes  and  hair,  and  that  soft,  melan- 
choly expression  in  the  eyes  common  in  Spanish 
women  and  not  uncommon  in  the  dark-skinned 
Hampshire  women.  She  had  been  taught  at  the 
village  school,  and  having  attracted  the  attention 
and  interest  of  the  great  lady  of  the  place  on  ac- 
count of  her  intelligence  and  pleasing  manners, 
she  was  taken  when  quite  young  as  lady's  maid 
and  in  this  employment  continued  for  many 
years  until  her  marriage  to  a  villager. 
One  day,  conversing  with  her,  I  said  I  Kad 


POSTSCRIPT  175 

heard  that  the  village  was  haunted  by  a  ghost  of 
a  woman:  was  that  true? 

Yes,  it  was  true,  she  returned. 

Did  she  know  that  it  was  true?     Had  she 
actually  see  the  ghost? 

Yes,  she  had  seen  it  once.  One  day,  when  she 
was  lady's  maid,  she  w^as  in  her  bedroom,  dress- 
ing or  doing  something,  with  another  maid.  The 
door  was  closed,  and  they  were  in  a  merry  mood, 
talking  and  laughing,  when  suddenly  they  both 
at  the  same  moment  saw  a  woman  with  a  still, 
white  face  walking  through  the  room.  She  was 
in  the  middle  of  the  room  when  they  caught 
sight  of  her,  and  they  both  screamed  and  covered 
their  faces  with  their  hands.  So  great  was  her 
terror  that  she  almost  fainted;  then  in  a  few 
moments  when  they  looked  the  apparition  had 
vanished.  As  to  the  habit  she  was  wearing, 
neither  of  them  could  say  afterwards  what  it  was 
like:  only  the  white,  still  face  remained  fixed  in 
their  memory,  but  the  figure  was  a  dark  one  like 
a  dark  shadow  moving  rapidly  through  the 
room. 

If  Elfrida  then,  albeit  still  in  purgatory,  is 
able  to  re-visit  this  scene  of  her  early  life,  and 


176'  DEAD  MAN'S  PLACK 

the  site  of  that  tragedy  in  the  forest,  it  does  not 
seem  to  me  altogether  improbable  that  she  her- 
self made  the  revelation  I  have  written.  And  if 
this  be  so,  it  would  account  for  the  veiled  char- 
acter conveyed  in  the  narrative.  For  even  after 
ten  centuries  it  may  well  be  that  all  the  cover- 
ings have  not  yet  been  removed,  that  although 
she  has  been  dropping  them  one  by  one  for  ages, 
she  has  not  yet  come  to  the  end  of  them.  Until 
the  very  last  covering,  or  veil,  or  mist  is  re- 
moved, it  would  be  impossible  for  her  to  be  ab- 
solutely sincere,  to  reveal  her  inmost  soul  with 
all  that  is  most  dreadful  in  it.  But  when 
that  time  comes,  from  the  very  moment  of  its 
coming  she  would  cease  automatically  to  be  an 
exiled  and  tormented  spirit. 

If,  then,  Elfrida  is  herself  responsible  for  the 
narrative,  it  is  only  natural  that  she  does  not 
appear  in  it  quite  as  black  as  she  has  been 
painted.  For  the  monkish  chronicler  was,  we 
know,  the  Father  of  Lies,  and  so  indeed  in  a 
measure  are  all  historians  and  biographers,  since 
they  cannot  see  into  hearts  and  motives  or  know 
all  the  circumstances  of  the  case.  And  in  this 
case  they  were  painting  the  picture  of  their  hated 


POSTSCRIPT  177 

enemy,  and  no  doubt  were  not  sparing  in  the  use 
of  the  black  pigment. 

To  know  all  is  to  forgive  all,  is  a  good  saying, 
and  enables  us  to  see  why  even  the  worst  among 
us  can  always  find  it  possible  to  forgive  himself. 


II 

An  Old  Thorn 

T  WAS  pleased  at  this  opportunity  of  rescuing 
this  story  from  a  far-back  number  of  the 
English  Review,  in  which  it  first  appeared,  and 
putting  it  in  a  book.  It  may  be  a  shock  to  the 
reader  to  be  brought  down  from  a  story  of  a 
great  king  and  queen  of  England  in  the  tenth 
century  to  the  obscure  annals  of  a  yokel  and  his 
wife  who  lived  in  a  Wiltshire  village  only  a 
century  ago;  or  even  less,  since  my  poor  yokel 
was  hanged  for  sheep-stealing  in  1821.  But  it 
is,  I  think,  worth  preserving,  since  it  is  the  only 
narrative  I  know  of  dealing  with  that  rare  and 
curious  subject,  the  survival  of  tree-worship  in 
our  own  country.  That,  however,  was  not  the 
reason  of  my  being  pleased. 

It  was  just  when  I  had  finished  writing  the 
story  of  Elfrida  that  I  happened  to  see  in  my 

178 


POSTSCRIPT  179 

morning  paper  a  highly  eulogistical  paragraph 
about  one  of  our  long  dead  and,  I  imagine,  for- 
gotten worthies.  The  occasion  of  the  paragraph 
doesn't  matter.  The  man  eulogized  was  Mr. 
Justice  Park — Sir  James  Allan  Park,  a  highly 
successful  barrister,  who  was  judge  from  18 16 
to  his  death  in  1838.  ''As  judge,  though  not 
eminent,  he  was  sound,  fair  and  sensible,  a  little 
irascible,  but  highly  esteemed."  He  was  also  the 
author  of  a  religious  work.  And  that  is  all  the 
particular  Liar  who  wrote  his  biography  in  the 
D.  N.  B.  can  tell  us  about  him. 

It  was  the  newspaper  paragraph  which  re- 
minded me  that  I  had  written  about  this  same 
judge,  giving  my  estimate  of  his  character  in  my 
book  "A  Shepherd's  Life,"  also  that  I  was  think- 
ing about  Park,  the  sound  and  fair  and  sensible 
Judge,  when  I  wrote  "An  Old  Thorn."  Here 
then,  with  apologies  to  the  reader  for  quoting 
from  my  own  book,  I  reproduce  what  I  wrote  in 
1905: 

"From  these  memories  of  the  old  villagers  I 
turn  to  the  newspapers  of  the  day  to  make  a  few 
citations. 

"The  law  as  it  was  did  not  distinguish  between 


i8o  DEAD  MAN'S   PLACK 

a  case  of  the  kind  just  related,  of  the  starving, 
sorely-tempted  Shergold,  and  that  of  the  system- 
atic thief;  sheep-stealing  was  a  capital  offence, 
and  the  man  must  be  hanged,  unless  recom- 
mended to  mercy,  and  we  know  what  was  meant 
by  'mercy'  in  those  days.  That  so  barbarous  a  law 
existed  within  memory  of  people  to  be  found 
living  in  most  villages  appears  almost  incredible 
to  us;  but  despite  the  recommendations  to 
'mercy'  usual  in  a  large  majority  of  cases,  the  law 
of  that  time  was  not  more  horrible  than  the  tem- 
per of  the  men  who  administered  it.  There  are 
good  and  bad  among  all,  and  in  all  professions, 
but  there  is  also  a  black  spot  in  most — possibly 
all — hearts,  which  may  be  developed  to  almost 
any  extent,  to  change  the  justest,  wisest,  most 
moral  men  into  'human  devils.'  In  reading  the 
old  reports  and  the  expressions  used  by  the 
judges  in  their  summings  up  and  sentences,  it  is 
impossible  not  to  believe  that  the  awful  power 
they  possessed,  and  its  constant  exercise,  had  not 
only  produced  the  inevitable  hardening  effect, 
but  had  made  them  cruel  in  the  true  sense  of  the 
word.  Their  pleasure  in  passing  dreadful  sen- 
tences was  very  thinly  disguised  by  certain  lofty, 


POSTSCRIPT  i8i 

conventional  phrases  as  to  the  necessity  of  up- 
holding the  law,  morality  and  religion.  They 
were,  indeed,  as  familiar  with  the  name  of  the 
Deity  as  any  ranter  in  a  conventicle,  and  the 
'enormity  of  the  crime'  was  an  expression  as 
constantly  used  in  the  case  of  the  theft  of  a  loaf 
of  bread,  or  of  an  old  coat  left  hanging  on  a 
hedge,  by  some  ill-clad,  half-starved  wretch,  as 
in  cases  of  burglary,  arson,  rape  and  murder. 

"It  is  surprising  to  find  how  very  few  the 
real  crimes  were  in  those  days,  despite  the  mis- 
ery of  the  people,  that  nearly  all  the  'crimes^  for 
which  men  wxre  sentenced  to  the  gallows  and  to 
transportation  for  life,  or  for  long  terms,  were 
offences  which  would  now  be  sufficiently  pun- 
ished by  a  few  weeks',  or  even  a  few  days',  im- 
prisonment. Thus,  in  April,  1825,  I  note  that 
Mr.  Justice  Park  commented  on  the  heavy  ap- 
pearance of  the  calendar.  It  was  not  so  much 
the  number  (170)  of  the  offenders  that  excited 
his  concern  as  it  was  the  nature  of  the  crimes 
with  which  they  were  charged.  The  worst 
crime  in  this  instance  was  sheep-stealing! 

"Again,  this  same  Mr.  Justice  Park,  at  the 
Spring  Assizes   at   Salisbury,    1827,   said   that 


i82  DEAD  MAN'S  PLACK 

though  the  calendar  was  a  heavy  one,  he  was 
happy  to  find  on  looking  at  the  depositions  of  the 
principal  cases,  that  they  were  not  of  a  very 
serious  character.  Nevertheless,  he  passed  sen- 
tence of  death  on  twenty-eight  persons,  among 
them  being  one  for  stealing  half-a-crownl 

^'Of  the  twenty-eight  all  but  three  were  event- 
ually reprieved,  one  of  the  fated  three  being  a 
youth  of  nineteen,  who  was  charged  with  steal- 
ing a  mare  and  pleaded  guilty  in  spite  of  a  warn- 
ing from  the  Judge  not  to  do  so.  This  irritated 
the  great  man  who  had  the  power  of  life  and 
death  in  his  hand.  In  passing  sentence,  the  judge 
'expatiated  on  the  prevalence  of  the  crime  of 
horse-stealing  and  the  necessity  of  making  an 
example.  The  enormity  of  Read's  crime  ren- 
dered him  a  proper  example,  and  he  would 
therefore  hold  out  no  hope  of  mercy  towards 
him.'  As  to  the  plea  of  guilty,  he  remarked  that 
nowadays  too  many  persons  pleaded  guilty,  de- 
luded with  the  hope  that  it  would  be  taken  into 
consideration  and  they  would  escape  the  severer 
penalty.  He  was  determined  to  put  a  stop  to 
that  sort  of  thing;  if  Read  had  not  pleaded 
guilty,  no  doubt  some  extenuating  circumstance 


POSTSCRIPT  183 

would  have  come  up  during  the  trial  and  he 
would  have  saved  his  life. 

^'There,  if  ever,  spoke  the  'human  devil'  in  a 
black  cap! 

"I  find  another  case  of  a  sentence  of  trans- 
portation for  life  on  a  youth  of  eighteen,  named 
Edward  Baker,  for  stealing  a  pocket-handker- 
chief. Had  he  pleaded  guilty  it  might  have 
been  worse  for  him. 

"At  the  Salisbury  Spring  Assizes,  1830,  Mr. 
Justice  Gazalee,  addressing  the  grand  jury, 
said  that  none  of  the  crimes  appeared  to  be 
marked  with  circumstances  of  great  moral  turpi- 
tude. The  prisoners  numbered  130.  He  passed 
sentences  of  death  on  twenty-nine,  life  trans- 
portations on  five,  fourteen  years  on  five,  seven 
years  on  eleven,  and  various  terms  of  hard 
labour  on  the  others."  ("A  Shepherd's  Life" — 
pp.  241-4). 

Johnnie  Budd  was  done  to  death  before  my 
principal  informants,  one  eighty-nine  years  old, 
the  other  ninety-three,  were  born;  but  in  their 
early  years  they  knew  the  widow  and  her  three 
children,  and  had  known  them  and  their  children 
all  their  lives;  thus,  the  whole  story  of  Johnnie 


1 84  DEAD  MAN'S  PLACK 

and  Marty  was  familiar  to  them.  Now,  when  I 
thought  of  Johnnie's  case  and  how  he  was  treated 
at  the  trial,  as  it  was  told  me  by  these  old  people, 
it  struck  me  as  so  like  that  of  the  poor  young  man 
Read,  who  was  hanged  because  he  pleaded 
guilty,  that  I  at  once  came  to  the  belief  that  it 
was  Mr.  Justice  Park  who  had  tried  him.  I 
have  accordingly  searched  the  newspapers  of 
that  day,  but  have  failed  to  find  Johnnie's  case. 
I  can  only  suppose  that  this  particular  case  was 
probably  considered  too  unimportant  to  be  re- 
ported at  large  in  the  newspapers  of  1821.  He 
was  just  one  of  a  number  convicted  and  sen- 
tenced to  capital  punishment. 

When  Johnnie  was  hanged,  his  poor  wife 
travelled  to  Salisbury  and  succeeded  in  getting 
permission  to  take  the  body  back  to  the  village 
for  burial.  How  she  in  her  poverty,  with  her 
three  little  children  to  keep,  managed  it,  I  don't 
know.  Probably  some  of  the  other  poor  vil- 
lagers who  pitied  and  perhaps  loved  her  helped 
her  to  do  it.  She  did  even  more:  she  had  a 
grave-stone  set  above  him  with  his  name  and  the 
dates  of  his  birth  and  death  cut  on  it.  And  there 
it  is  now,  within  a  dozen  yards  of  the  church 


POSTSCRIPT  185 

door  In  the  small  old  churchyard — the  smallest 
village  churchyard  known  to  me;  and  Johnnie's 
and  Marty's  children's  children  are  still  living 
in  the  village. 


THE  END 


UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA  LIBRARY 

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